


Silver Heart

by KytheWolf



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Death, Ghosts, Graphic Description, Gunshot Wounds, Homophobia, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nudity, Physical Abuse, Racism, Running Away, Self-Harm, Serious Injuries, Soulmates, Spirits, Survival, Violence, Werewolf Culture, Werewolf Hunters, werewolf!Phil, werewolf!dan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:25:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 32,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KytheWolf/pseuds/KytheWolf
Summary: The Lester family have been hunters for generations, and their favourite prey are the rogue werewolves that live in the forest surrounding the town. When a new pack moves in, the Lesters are the ones called on to deal with the wolves, but in the chaos of the raid one is missed. Orphaned, wounded and barely more than a pup, the future looks foggy for Dan when he is rescued by the son of those who killed his family. Forced to live in secret in an old shed behind the house, Dan finds himself becoming more and more fond of Phil, but what will happen when the secret breaks out?Families are broken and lost, found and formed; struggles are faced; ancient pasts are rediscovered and adventures are had by the unlikely pair in a world where friends and enemies are sometimes difficult to tell apart.





	1. Introduction

This story is set in the modern day of a semi-dystopian alternate universe. In this world, werewolves are outlaws – seen as monsters with no rights. They are hunted as pests for sport, and so are forced to hide themselves away from humans.

Humans who become ‘infected’ are cast out, if they’re lucky – shot if they aren’t. Werewolf culture is hunted almost to the point of extinction, but a few packs do survive to carry on traditions. However, due to the threats they face, many ancient customs are dropped in favour of survival.

Some werewolves choose to abandon their wolf shifts entirely; to live as humans with secrets – but they are very few, as the risk of being found out is so great. They are even shunned by their own kind; accused of betrayal and fraud, and left as traitors to their fates.

Werewolves who remain wild are forced to keep travelling to avoid discovery, moving territory every few weeks. Leaving a trail is risky, but staying in one place too long is even more so.

Some choose to be loners, or are forced to be when their packs are killed by hunters. Loners are wanderers, looking out for only themselves. Occasionally, two or more loners will band together and form a new pack, but raising pups is difficult when there is no safe place – even those who aren’t killed by bullets or traps can die from starvation or cold when orphaned.

This is also a universe in which soulmates exist, although not everyone has one. Upon first eye contact with one’s soulmate, a person will experience an intense, hot feeling behind the eyes which travels down the spine; this is known as the ‘soulmate burn’.

Throughout this story, I will be referring to werewolves’ different ‘forms’ or ‘shifts’ of human and wolf. I also use the terms alpha/beta/omega etc. as purely to describe a wolf’s hierarchal position in the pack – nothing to do with biology/the omegaverse. The positions are as follows:

Alpha – leader of the pack; one to two per pack (mates may become joint alphas)  
Beta – deputy; one to three per pack  
Gamma – standard pack members; make up most of the pack  
Delta – healer/priest; one to two per pack  
Omega – lowest rank/runt; up to about six per pack

I hope you enjoy this fic! There will be some violence and other possible triggers, and warnings will be in the notes at the beginning of each chapter. If you have any questions etc., leave a comment or send me an ask on Tumblr @ky-thewolf


	2. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death; referenced gore

Darkness ruled in the old house. Shadows lurked in every corner of the musty hallway, feasting on the silence. Black haze crept across the wooden floor and up the walls, past the trophies with their lifeless eyes and frozen expressions, past the doorways on either side that gaped like open mouths, swallowing into blacker rooms beyond. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. The whole house seemed to hold its breath.

The sudden shrill tone of a telephone rang out, echoing and out of place. The shadows halted their progression as footsteps creaked upstairs; a door, then more footsteps, and then the flick of a switch. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling hummed to life, and the bright artificial yellow sent the shadows retreating back to their corners as the footsteps began to descend the stairs.

A large, muscular man emerged into the glow, his thinning grey hair and sunken eyes accentuated in the harsh light. The man’s feet fell heavy on the floorboards as he reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed the hallway to where the phone sat on a table by the front door, picking it up and momentarily throwing the house back into silence.

“Lester speaking.”

“Sorry to get you up at this hour, Bill.” The voice crackling from the receiver was gruff and male, tinged with weariness beneath its resilient edge. “I just got a call from John Roacher down at Foxtail Farm; he says he’s seen a pack of mutts traipsing across his land, heading towards the forest near you, apparently.”

“How many?”

“Not sure. Maybe between ten and fifteen, John reckoned.”

“Alright; we’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Bill Lester hung up the phone, almost throwing it down in his haste as he hurried to pull on his boots and jacket, yelling into the quiet house; “Martyn! We’ve got work to do!” Bill retreated to the shadowy far end of the hall, disappearing inside the wide maw of the study. He re-emerged a minute later with two hunting rifles, the barrels long cylinders of dark metal, coloured like the Deaths they were made to inflict. The upstairs floorboards creaked again: as Bill’s eldest son stepped into the light he held out one of the rifles, which his son took with a stony expression on his face.

“Where this time, Dad?”

“Don’t know exactly; they’ve come through Foxtail, heading our way to the forest.”

Bill was unlocking the front door as he spoke; he pulled it open and led Martyn outside, and the door clicked shut behind them, letting the house sink back into silence.

Upstairs in his room, Bill’s younger son was sitting cross-legged on top of his blue and green checkered bedspread with a book forgotten in his lap, his head down and shoulders slumped as he heard the phone ring, knowing what it meant even before his dad picked up. He only heard one side of the conversation, but his brain could fill in the other half based on what it had been many times before. He heard his dad call to his brother; the pause and footsteps; the question and answer that added to the gaps in information from the phone call.

Phil listened as the truck started up outside, the sound quickly fading into the distance. He flopped backwards on his bed, a sigh of despair escaping him and dissipating, unheard, into the black air.

_This was wrong, what they were doing. There was no reason that those people deserved to die; their lives were just as valid as any normal human’s._

But those thoughts had no place in the Lester household, where their reputation rested entirely on acts such as those that his brother and father were about to perform, and had performed countless times before.

That was just how the world worked, as much as Phil hated it. But he was too scared (and, as much as he hated to admit it, lazy) to stand up for what was right.

He would have to join the hunts, soon. Once he turned seventeen, he would be dragged down to some place in the forest like a reluctant dog. A brand-new rifle would be forced into his trembling hands; the shiny black metal of its barrel would reflect blue anguish back at him. He would be brought before a cage; expected to raise the crosshairs to his eye level, train them on the cage’s inhabitant and pull the trigger –

A distant gunshot split the air, startling Phil back to the present. For several moments the silence returned, and Phil didn’t move, listening…

A second shot sounded, quickly followed by a third, fourth, fifth; too many to count, overlapping and absorbing each other – countless lives taken by the smallest motion of a single finger, and all because they were half something that wasn’t human, something considered unnatural, disgusting, monstrous...

As the peace of the night continued to shatter under the hailstorm of noise and Death, Phil wormed his way desperately underneath his duvet, pulling it over his head; his book fell to the floor with a quiet thud as Phil buried himself in the blue and green squares; his hands clamped over his ears in an attempt to block out the sound of the guns. It didn’t work. Although he could no longer hear, the bangs still echoed around inside his head, ricocheting like the bullets they announced – each rebound beat in the guilt of all the people who were dying while Phil lay in his bed and tried to ignore.

*

The young wolf’s paws pounded the packed earth as he sprinted between the trees, pursued by deafening bangs.

He had lost track of the rest of the pack; they had scattered away in every direction, fading into the forest in a panic when the first shot killed the peace, taking the alpha with it.

They were just settling down to rest for the night after yet another long day of traveling. The pups were exhausted, some already asleep on their parent’s backs or in their loving arms. They had laid down in the leaf-litter, scraping it close into makeshift nests. The alpha was shifted human, a grubby cotton sheet embroidered with ancient symbols wrapped around her shoulders as she addressed her pack.

Dan hadn’t been listening, nuzzling against his mother’s side with his younger brother. Despite being almost as big as her, Dan was still technically a pup and insisted on being treated as such, although he no longer drank her milk; that was all for his brother, whose weak and runty body needed all it could get to grow strong enough to survive the looming winter.

Dan was exhausted from all the walking; it was far too long a journey for someone so young. He lay down with his family, closing his eyes and sighing drowsily as the alpha’s voice washed over his ears – before being cut off by a bang, and the thud of something heavy hitting the ground.

Dan’s eyes had snapped open, his head shot up as he felt the sudden absence of his mother’s warmth. The alpha lay on her front against the earth, her yellow eyes open and unseeing – a red stain blooming on the patterned cloth across her back. Dan stared, too shocked to move; his brother was gone too, and his mother was urging him to _run_ , her own footsteps already moving into the trees behind them, her jaws clamped firmly around the scruff of her youngest pup.

Then the humans had arrived. They emerged from downwind, maybe eight or ten of them, with long metal sticks pointed into the forest. One trained on Dan, his terrified brown gaze meeting the hollow black of the double barrels for the briefest moment, a challenging stare of Death.

Adrenaline flooded his body, and Dan scrambled to his feet and sprinted into the trees after his mother, shockwaves pounding his senses as something small buried itself in the ground mere hair-breadths from his retreating paws.

He wasn’t sleepy any more.

He was completely exhausted, but he couldn’t stop; he was too worked up, too awake; he had no idea where anyone else had gone, or even who was still alive – he just kept running, desperate to get away from the humans and their sounds of Death.

Two more shots echoed much closer, and Dan yelped as pain erupted on his left flank. He kept running for a few seconds before another agony shattered his foreleg, more intense than anything Dan had felt before in his young life.

He couldn’t keep going.

Dan stumbled on his wounded leg, tripping over the broken limb and falling through a bush; leaves and branches clawing at his fur – tumbling, rolling, slamming onto his side on the damp ground.

Dark green outlines blurred and swayed, staggering in and out of focus. He appeared to be in some kind of shallow ditch, bushes and ferns arching over the top and almost completely covering his hiding-place. Dan struggled to roll over onto his front, but the pain and exhaustion were too much. He slumped over, fighting to stay conscious as he felt something wet run through his fur from his leg and flank, dripping down to pool and stain the ground.

 _I’m sorry, Ma,_ he told the earth, unable to muster any kind of sound or movement. _I’m so sorry; I hope you and Adrian are safe…_

The world began to fade. Dan lowered his head to the ground and stared blankly, his breathing ragged, growing fainter and fainter as though each inhale might be his last. His ears twitched involuntarily as he heard voices nearby;

“… that’s the last of them…”

“… help me with these carcasses; bonfire’s back at the clearing…”

“… filthy mutts won’t be coming back ‘ere in a hurry…”

“… reckon the smell of burning flesh’ll keep ‘em away?...”

A chorus of harsh laughter; the slithering sound of several dead weights being dragged through the fallen leaves…

Dan’s vision turned black, and he was falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you have been waiting for this, and I'm so grateful for all the support I've received for this fic before it even technically started <3 thank you so much everyone
> 
> I was able to get this chapter out a lot earlier than I originally thought I'd be able to, and it will probably be relatively short compared to most of the other chapters, which I aim to have at 2 to ~5 thousand words each.
> 
> Updates will probably come every couple of weeks or so, but they may come earlier or later depending on my school workload, so please bear with me.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of it so far in the comments or on Tumblr @ky-thewolf
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy the story as it unfolds :)


	3. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death; gore
> 
>  
> 
> **Please tell me if I miss any triggers; even if they're not triggers for you, but they might be for someone else. I'm not used to putting trigger warnings, so it is possible that I will miss some. If you find any that I didn't mention, please tell me so that I can add them to the warnings. Thank you!**

The birds were late the next morning. The first thing Phil noticed when he woke up was the unnatural silence pressing on his ears; an abrupt contrast to the deafening noise of the guns from last night. _That’s probably why the birds aren’t singing_ , Phil thought; _they’re still hiding from the hunters_.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually Phil opened his eyes. The room was still swathed in shadows, but the grey glow from behind the curtains told him that Sunrise wasn’t too far off. Phil rolled over to look at his alarm clock, blinking and rubbing his eyes: 0632.

 _Half past six?_ Phil sat up, listening; his dad and brother should be back by now, but the silent house indicated that they weren’t yet – it was doubtful that they would have gone back to bed.

Not moving from where he lay, Phil tried to keep his thoughts off the events of last Night. He watched the minutes scroll by, numbing his mind to prevent it wandering back in time. It didn’t work. Every tick of the second hand echoed through his head as a gunshot, filling his mind with a fear that somehow didn’t belong to him, but nonetheless took over his emotions.

The twittering of the dawn chorus started up at about ten to seven, and still Phil hadn’t moved. The Sun was beginning to shine on the closed curtains, projecting distorted silhouettes of trees against the rumpled fabric. The details of the room were slowly revealed as the light grew brighter: the assortment of jumbled books and papers piled on the desk; the sketches and posters tacked to the walls, of landscapes, woodland creatures, flowers, or Phil’s favourite bands; a couple of sad-looking houseplants sat on his bookshelf, the wood beneath their pots scattered with the odd dead leaf; yesterday’s clothes were crumpled carelessly on the floor, lying where they had been dropped when Phil got undressed for bed.

Soon after, a steady rumbling and the crunch of tires on tarmac alerted Phil to the return of his dad and brother. The engine stopped and doors slammed; keys rattled in the door and it creaked open. Heavy footsteps stumbled into the kitchen, and slurred voices drifted up through the floorboards.

 _So that’s why they’re so late back; they’ve been celebrating at the pub._ Phil stayed where he was as another set of footsteps padded softly across the landing and down the stairs, his mother’s voice joining those of his dad and brother.

Eventually, the rumbling of his stomach persuaded Phil to get up and go have some breakfast. With an irritated sigh, Phil swung his legs out of bed and bent down to pick up the T-shirt and cargo trousers from the floor. He tugged off his pyjamas and threw his clothes on, scruffing up his fringe and pushing it back into a kind of quiff. Then, he left his bedroom and wandered downstairs, pulling the door closed behind him.

The mounted heads on the wall seemed to watch him as he passed beneath them, their blank artificial eyes shining eerily, their lips pulled back and teeth bared in threatening snarls. Phil kept his head down, eyes fixed on his bare feet as he padded down the stairs. The trophies weren’t so scary in daylight, but Phil was still creeped out by the fact those heads had once been attached to bodies – bodies that had another form besides that which they had died in…

Phil shook his head, shivering as icy phantom fingers spidered down his back. _Stop it. There’s nothing there. Pull yourself together, Phil, you’re imagining things._

When Phil entered the kitchen, Bill and Martyn were sitting at the table, both slumped over mugs of coffee and plates of toast and marmalade. Kathryn was standing at the stove, the smell of scrambled eggs rising from behind her and filling Phil’s nose as he sat down next to his brother.

“I tell you,” Bill was saying, taking another bite of toast, “it was hilarious the way they just sat there in shock after we killed the alpha. They just looked at her like ‘what the fuck just happened’, and then when they realised we were there they just –” Bill mimed a look of panic and a creature scrambling away in fright, and then burst out laughing, spraying crumbs and spit across the table.

“Keep your mouth closed when you’re eating, please, dear,” Kathryn scolded gently, setting the pan of eggs on a cork mat in the middle of the table and taking her own seat beside her husband.

Phil’s dad shoved his last bite of toast into his mouth and pointed across at his eldest son. “One of the dumber ones forgot to run away at first,” he said through another spray of crumbs, “and Martyn almost got it, but as soon as it spotted him aiming at it, it scarpered. The shot was only about a millimetre away from it, though.”

Phil kept his head down as his family continued discussing the raid. He ate his toast in silence, trying not to listen but unable to stop himself.

“What did you do with the bodies?” Phil’s mum asked, calmly taking a mouthful of eggs as though she was discussing the weather.

“Burned ‘em.” Martyn spoke with an excited gleam in his eye. “We built up a huge bonfire at the clearing where we first found them. Hopefully the smell will work to keep other packs away.”

“At one point, we found a pup standing next to its wounded mother, nudging her and crying.” Bill let out another bark of laughter. “Didn’t take a moment to put both of ‘em out of their misery.”

Phil couldn’t help himself. His head jerked up to look at his father’s alcohol-flushed face, struggling to swallow as his throat constricted with guilt. “Th-there were pups?” he asked, choking slightly on his toast.

Bill didn’t seem to notice his youngest son’s distress as he laughed again. “Yeah, a few. Not anymore, though.” His face contorted into a slightly lopsided sadistic grin. “Gotta stop ‘em growing up and having their own.”

Kathryn gave Phil a look as she turned to address her husband. “Yes, I agree; the best way to wipe them out is to prevent the filthy mongrels from reproducing in the first place. Honestly, they’re like rats: non-stop breeding, stealing from bins, scurrying around like the pests they are. It’s disgusting.”

Phil’s appetite was gone. The conversation was churning the toast in his stomach, making him want to throw up.

Abruptly he stood, ignoring the surprised expressions of his family as he excused himself from the table, leaving his half-eaten toast where it sat and heading to the front door. As he began pulling on his boots, he heard his mum call;

“Philip! Where are you going?”

“For a walk,” he called back, not trusting himself to elaborate as he grabbed his jacket and hurried out of the house.

The door shut behind him with a sharp click, leaving several moments of silence in Phil’s wake. His family looked at each other in surprise, the eyes of the other two resting on Bill as Phil’s dad sighed gruffly and lifted his mug to his lips.

“Seriously, that lad’s gonna have to line his stomach with something a lot tougher pretty soon. We can’t have him pussying out of raids when he starts joining the hunts. He’s gonna have to learn that if he wants to be a member of this family, he’s gotta accept that this is how life works.”

The last few words were muffled by the mug as Bill lifted it to take a gulp of coffee, but nevertheless Martyn and Kathryn nodded in agreement. _This is how life works in the Lester household._

*

Leaves crunched under Phil’s boots as he wandered through the trees, his head down and collar turned up, hands buried deep in his pockets. A cold wind had picked up once he entered the forest, tugging at his hair and biting his exposed nose and cheeks, but Phil didn’t care – he just pushed on.

Inside, he was being eaten up by guilt. _People died. People were killed – killed by Phil’s own family who were currently sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast as though nothing had happened…_

Phil’s feet began working on autopilot, carrying him along the path towards Foxtail Farm, towards where the raid began. Phil didn’t try to fight it, even once he realised; he wanted to see where it had happened, to know what was left…

Soon, Phil could make out a thin trail of smoke rising from the trees to his left. He redirected his footsteps towards it, noticing the scraped earth and scattered leaves beneath them – signs of frightened paws fleeing.

The trees thinned ahead of him, and Phil inhaled sharply. His eyes widened as he stepped into the clearing, fixed on the ground around the base of the wispy grey column.

Bones, charred black and streaked with brown and red; singed fur from a whole spectrum of greyscale and browns; tattered pieces of fabric that might once have been clothing; staring eyes, clouded over and unseeing; flesh, raw and bloody or cooked like a Sunday roast, stuck with pieces of leaf, dirt and twig. Everything was jumbled in a heap, collapsed and indistinguishable from one body to the next. Some might have once been wolf; a couple of others seemed human; a handful were contorted in a mixture of the two forms, killed mid-transformation…

Phil’s hand came up to his mouth as he turned away, retching and trying not to throw up as the smell reached his nose; the choking stench of burned fur, blood and Death. It took all of Phil’s self-control to keep his breakfast down, but part of him couldn’t see the point; so many people had lost their lives – it was only fair for Phil to lose something as well.

Eventually Phil’s stomach calmed somewhat. As soon as he could move Phil straightened up and hurried away back into the trees, forcing himself not to look back at the cursed scene.

He paid no attention to where he was going. Just away. Away from the crowds of tortured spirits that hovered over the place like a dark cloud, seeping fear and sadness into the surroundings. _Just away_.

Once the smell had faded into nothing but a memory, Phil sat down with his back against a tree, eyes closed and taking deep breaths to steady his nerves and stomach. That was worse than he had imagined. Phil was appalled at the disrespect the hunters had shown their prey: normally as much of the animal as possible would be put to use, made the most of – but werewolves were different. Pests, outlaws, monsters; hunted for sport and nothing more, treated like vermin and thrown on the rubbish heap like an old sofa.

It was disgusting.

After a while (exactly how long Phil wasn’t sure), he became aware of a faint whining noise coming from somewhere in the undergrowth. Phil opened his eyes and looked around, trying to pinpoint it. There was a cluster of densely packed bushes a few metres away from where Phil sat, and the noise seemed to get louder as he stood up and crept closer. It sounded like an animal in pain.

Carefully, Phil reached forwards and pulled aside the branches to reveal a surprisingly deep hollow hidden in the undergrowth. It looked as though it had been used as some kind of den, and a faint gasp escaped Phil’s mouth when he saw the creature lying in the shadows at the bottom.

*

Dan was barely conscious. He had woken up to world that refused to stop spinning, and the dull pain in his left foreleg and flank punctuated each breath with a whistling whine.

Leaves crunched nearby as something approached his hiding place, but Dan couldn’t muster enough energy to silence himself. He didn’t care anymore if the hunters got him; they’d got everyone else in his pack, so it only made sense to finish the job.

Rustling and a sharp breath above him made Dan’s ear twitch instinctively, and he braced for the gunshot that would be the last sound he ever heard. When it didn’t come, Dan managed to shift his head slightly until his vision was focused on a pale face with black hair and blue eyes.

*

Another gasp forced its escape as the wolf’s deep brown gaze met Phil’s. An intense, hot feeling boiled behind Phil’s eyes before shooting down his spine and dissipating. It only lasted a moment, but the air seemed to crackle with electricity for several seconds afterwards. Eventually that sensation too faded, and Phil shook his head to clear it; it was probably just a reflex because the wolf felt threatened. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, Phil let his eyes roam over the rest of the wolf’s appearance.

It was hard to see in the gloom, but Phil could just about make out the dark stains amongst the greyish fur of its flank and one leg, which was lying at a slightly odd angle on the ground. This wolf needed help as soon as possible. It wouldn’t survive long with those bullet wounds; even if it managed to fight off any infection, hunting would be nearly impossible on that broken leg.

Phil pulled his head out of the bushes and glanced around; he couldn’t hear anyone else, but still he hesitated. _This was dangerous._ Werewolves were essentially outlaws, and helping them in any way was deeply frowned upon, to put it lightly.

Especially by Phil’s family.

 _This is how you repay them,_ a voice whispered in the back of Phil’s mind. _You were feeling guilty? This is how you start to make up for standing by and letting all those others die: by helping this one._

The wolf hadn’t moved when Phil looked back. It still lay on its side in the leaf mold, looking so hopeless that Phil instantly made up his mind. _I can’t just walk away._

Moving slowly so as not to startle it, Phil pushed aside the branches of the bushes until there was a gap big enough for him to fit through. The wolf eyed him apprehensively, its muscles tensed instinctively.

“Hey, it’s ok,” Phil whispered, his voice croaky. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Tentatively he shuffled into the hollow and reached out a hand towards the wolf, clenching his jaw nervously as the wolf’s lips pulled back in a snarl. “I’m here to help you,” he told it, moving closer despite all his instincts telling him to do the opposite.

*

Dan growled warily as the boy’s hand came within a foot of his fur. He could see the boy trembling slightly, but realistically Dan could do nothing to stop him; he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in at least the last day and a half, and with the amount of blood he had lost on top of that Dan had no energy whatsoever.

He heard the boy’s words, but he had trouble believing them; a lifetime of hearing stories, plus last night’s events, had taught him about the terrible things humans were capable of doing to his kind. The boy was also covered in the scent of the hunters, which really set Dan on edge.

But there was another part of him that wanted to trust this boy. For one, he seemed different to the other humans Dan had encountered: calmer, quieter, more gentle. His voice was reassuring despite the nervous undertone, and the way he avoided eye contact told Dan that he was purposefully trying to not seem threatening. There was also that sensation Dan had felt when their eyes had first met: the hot energy that had started behind his eyes and travelled down his back… Dan knew that somewhere amongst all the other stories he had heard during his puphood there had been one about a feeling like that and what it meant, if only he could remember it…

Dan was jolted out of his thoughts when something brushed against his shoulder. His whole body tensed as the boy’s fingers stroked him again, more surely this time. When he still didn’t move, the boy moved his other hand to stroke him as well.

“I’m going to try and help you,” the boy murmured, his voice washing over Dan’s ears. “I need to take you home so that I can treat those injuries, but you have to let me help you.” His hands stopped petting and began working their way between Dan and the ground, trying to move him.

Dan growled and the boy’s hands stopped moving, but he didn’t retract them.

“I know you can understand me,” the boy told him with an undertone of frustration. “I need you to help me so that I can help you.”

Neither of them moved for several seconds. The pounding of the boy’s heart reached Dan’s ears, loud and fast; the boy was clearly terrified, but he was pushing his own fear aside to help Dan.

That was what did it. Despite his scent, this boy had a very different view, and Dan was suddenly very grateful that there were some humans who did care.

As the boy’s hands started to move again, Dan mustered up his remaining energy to reposition his three working legs to raise himself slightly off the ground. The boy tensed as Dan moved, but quickly moved to get his arms underneath to support Dan before he collapsed again.

Once Dan was settled against his chest, the boy lifted him and shuffled out of the hollow on his knees. Dan felt the boy stagger slightly as he stood up – Dan was almost fully grown, after all – and he flinched as his leg was jolted, but as the boy began walking through the forest Dan found himself relaxing into the sounds of the boy’s breathing and heartbeat. He was by no means safe yet, but he was a damn sight better off than he had been lying in that ditch waiting for his Death.


	4. Hidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: injuries; blood

The wolf was heavy in Phil’s arms as he made his way back through the trees. Phil could feel its rapid heartbeat drumming against his own, feel every irregular breath expanding its barrel chest. Phil felt the creature tense every time he stumbled and jolted its injured leg and side, but Phil was thankful that it wasn’t struggling or making a fuss; that made his job a lot easier.

Phil hadn’t realised how far he had come to get away from the bonfire until he considered the fact that they were heading back towards it. Phil slowed his pace, carefully shifting the wolf in his arms; _I can’t let him see._

It was too much, Phil thought, after what the poor creature had been through last night: to force it to suffer more through the sight and scent of what was left of its family.

Phil’s feet turned and went in a different direction, careful to give the clearing a wide berth. He instinctively held the wolf closer, running his fingers through its coarse fur in an act of reassurance. One ear twitched, but otherwise the wolf didn’t react, staring into the trees in the direction of the out-of-sight bonfire.

When they were a significant distance past the clearing, a sharp ache began shooting up Phil’s arms, and his breathing hissed rapidly through his clenched teeth. Phil stopped walking and bent down, and as he felt the wolf tense he muttered; “Shh, don’t worry. I just need to… put you down for a sec…”

He carefully lowered the wolf to the ground, setting it amongst the golden scatter of leaves on the roots of a large oak. Phil slid his hands out from underneath and stood up straight again, panting heavily and shaking his arms to return feeling to the tired muscles. The wolf just looked up at him, not making eye contact but taking in his appearance, the deep brown gaze seeming almost analytical.

In the filtered Sunlight, the wolf’s pelt had an intriguing, almost marbled appearance; a hundred shades of brown intertwined with pale greys, the paler throat and belly like a reversed shadow. Phil tried not to stare – in wolf language that could be considered a threat – but he couldn’t help himself; he had never seen one up close before, and the wolf was just so beautiful, even despite the dark stains of mud and blood that were matted into its fur. Phil found himself wondering what this werewolf’s human form looked like.

A quiet but insistent whine cut through Phil’s thoughts, and he blinked as he glanced back at the wolf’s face. It was watching him intently, ears slack but still up, head tilted ever so slightly to one side and eyes asking _what now?_

“Uh, right…” Phil murmured to himself, glancing around in the direction of his family’s house, invisible beyond the trees. They were still alone, but Phil worried that if he didn’t come home soon someone would come looking for him. Possibly with a gun.

Phil turned back to the wolf, thinking. _What am I actually going to do with him when I get home?_

There was nowhere in the house that the wolf could stay; it would be found out instantly. The basement was a possibility, but Phil had no idea how he could get the wolf in without being seen. _And I can’t just leave him out here to be found by hunters…_

“Ah!” Phil grinned suddenly and snapped his fingers, calming himself when the wolf startled and curled its lip. “Sorry.” He knelt down and reached out a reassuring hand to stroke the wolf’s shoulder. “Ok, here’s the plan,” he murmured, meeting the creature’s eyes, “there’s an old woodshed in the garden where you can stay. It’s hardly ever used, but it should be warm enough.” Phil paused, watching the wolf’s reaction. “We’re gonna go round the back and get into the garden through the back gate. The shed’s right at the end of the garden, and it’s hidden from the house by trees, so we shouldn’t be seen.”

The wolf didn’t move, but as that wasn’t an objection Phil took it as agreement.

“Ok.” Phil shuffled forward, putting one hand under the wolf’s chest and the other around its bottom. “I’m gonna try holding you differently this time – can you try and stand up?” Once again, the wolf obediently pushed itself upright on its three working legs; Phil slid his arms under and allowed the wolf to settle before lifting it and standing up, their heartbeats once again syncing up as Phil carried the wolf through the trees.

*

Phil listened carefully as they stopped on the edge of the trees, checking for any approaching cars, but the road was silent. The wolf grunted, bouncing slightly in Phil’s arms as he darted across the worn tarmac, but they made it into the opposite trees without mishap. The house was a couple of hundred yards down the lane to Phil’s right, but he had decided to cross here to make sure that they weren’t seen by anyone who might be standing in the driveway or looking out of a window.

They approached the house in a curving path, heading deeper into the trees before turning and approaching the house parallel to the road. As soon as the garden came into view, Phil slowed down, carefully adjusting the wolf’s position in his arms as he craned his neck to see the house through the branches. Nothing was visible except the occasional sliver of grey brick; perfect.

The gate was situated in one corner of the back fence, separated from Phil by a mass of brambles and fallen branches; the path that had once traced from the gate into the forest was badly overgrown, reclaimed by Nature during its lack of regular use. Phil gritted his teeth as thorns bit into his legs through his trousers, but he persevered, climbing awkwardly over the wild undergrowth with the wolf held firmly in his arms.

A couple of minutes later, they reached the gate, and Phil leaned against the fence for a moment to catch his breath. His arms were going numb under the wolf’s weight, but nevertheless Phil turned around and adjusted the creature’s position until one of his hands was free to flip the latch and pull the gate open. It stuck for a second, the earth unwilling to release it from the nest of where it had sat for so long, but with a couple of good tugs and only minimal complaint from the hinges, it came free.

Phil stuck his head in cautiously. Part of the kitchen window and upstairs were visible, meaning that anyone looking out from those places would have a view of the gate. Phil scanned the windows carefully; he couldn’t see anyone, but as there was no better option he would just have to take his chances. Bracing the gate open with one foot, Phil darted inside and quickly pulled it closed behind him, making sure that the latch clicked into place properly before he hurried out of sight towards the shed, the wolf in his arms looking around intently with ears pricked.

The old woodshed was tucked away to one side of the large and otherwise fairly neat garden, built into the fence. The grass surrounding its foundation was overgrown and matted with leaves and moss; the dark planks that formed the walls had been gnawed at and worn away by rot and wasps, leaving it looking ragged and derelict; the single pane of glass on one side was almost opaque with lichen and built-up grime. Despite its run-down appearance, the shed was still in surprisingly good condition, even if it did need a thorough clean.

The door was sealed by a simple sliding latch, rusted by disuse and exposure to the elements, and thankfully not padlocked. With some difficulty, Phil forced the bolt open; he winced as it suddenly came free and pinched the skin of his finger, which, although painful, had the benefit of muffling the noise of metal on metal which might have attracted the attention of someone inside the house. The wolf’s ears pricked, its eyes staring over Phil’s shoulder as the black-haired boy pulled cautiously; the door swung open a few degrees before a sudden loud creak of complaint from the rusted hinges made Phil freeze. The wolf’s head jerked around to watch the source of the noise, and Phil could feel both of their adrenaline-fueled heartbeats drumming frantically in the still air, overlaying and not quite in time.

When there was no response from the house, Phil tried the door again, and this time it came silently, opening to reveal the dark interior of the shed. Phil slipped inside and carefully lowered the wolf to the floor before turning to pull the door closed behind them.

As the last sliver of daylight was cut off around the edges, Phil leaned his forehead against the rough wood of the doorframe and closed his eyes, letting out a breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding until that moment. For a long moment, he didn’t move – _in, two, three, four; out, two, three, four_ – calming his racing heart now that they had got over the first hurdle, for the moment ignoring the rest of the obstacle course stretching into the future.

Eventually, Phil opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. The wolf was watching him intently from its slumped position on the dusty floorboards, motionless except for its twitching nose and the rise and fall of its chest. Meeting its gaze, Phil suddenly realised how uncomfortable the wolf looked slouched against the wall, and he tore his eyes away to look around the shed for something to make it more comfortable.

It wasn’t a very big room: only about seven-by-five feet, at least a third of which was taken up by a pile of partially rotted cardboard crates and disintegrating mesh bags of logs beneath the grimy window, which let in enough light to see but hopefully not enough to be seen from the outside. A couple of shelves were lined up on the opposite wall, stocked with random jars and bags and boxes of garden and DIY tools. Cobwebs patched the corners of the A-frame roof and stretched along the ridge like a tightrope. Every surface was covered in dust and dirt, clearly showing that no-one had been in there for a long time.

Tossed over the crates was a grubby canvas tarpaulin, and with no better options for the moment Phil reached over and tugged it out. A cloud of dust rose like a ghost and dissipated, making Phil cough slightly as he gently shook the tarp and folded it with the underside out. Phil’s shoes disturbed more dust as he stepped over the wolf towards the back of the shed, feeling the creature’s eyes burning into his back as he bent down and laid the makeshift bed on the floor beside the crates.

“There you go,” he murmured, standing up and turning to the wolf. “That’ll have to do for a bed for now; I’ll bring you some blankets later.” The wolf blinked slowly at him but didn’t move for several moments, pausing just long enough for Phil to understand that it was showing control; showing Phil that it would choose to lie there on its own terms.

Eventually, the wolf stood up unsteadily on its three unbroken legs, the injured one held awkwardly to keep the paw from brushing the ground. It hobbled across the room, claws clicking on the wooden floorboards, and Phil was abruptly reminded of why he had brought the wolf home in the first place.

The wolf collapsed on the tarp with an _uff_ of pain, a small cloud of dust rising around it. Phil ran his fingers through his hair in an action of frustrated thought, then stepped over to the shelves, looking through the objects stacked upon them, searching for anything that might be useful. He felt the wolf’s eyes on him, watching warily, burning like laser pointers. Phil pushed item after useless item aside, frantic fingers fumbling as he began to worry that he had brought the wolf all this way only to have no way to help it.

 _Found it._ Phil grabbed the once-white tin box and held it up to blow the dust off; through the cloud that made him cough, a red cross was revealed. This first-aid set had evidently been out here for years, but most of its contents should still be usable. Phil dug his fingernails into the groove and pulled; the lid resisted for a few moments, then popped open suddenly, the momentum almost making Phil drop the whole box.

Setting it on one of the crates below the window, Phil began rummaging inside, pulling out antiseptic wipes, sterile gauze and a couple of bandages. He brought these things over to the wolf and laid them out on the floor beside the tarp, where the wolf could see them.

“This is all I’ve got for now,” Phil explained gently, watching the wolf’s twitching nose, “but I’ll bring some proper stuff as soon as I can.” The wolf leaned back and looked at him, its brown gaze unreadable. Phil slowly reached for one of the wipes and tore open the wrapper; “These are meant for humans,” he murmured, pulling out the wipe, “but I reckon as you’re half human it should be fine.” Phil paused. “It might work better if you were human.” He met the wolf’s eyes, waiting to see if it would take the hint. The wolf glanced away, its breathing speeding up slightly, but it remained a wolf.

Phil waited a moment longer, then shrugged and sighed, “Alright then.” He leaned forward and rested his left hand on the wolf’s side, next to the wound on its flank. The wolf’s head jerked around to watch, panting anxiously through its nose but doing nothing to resist. Gently, Phil wiped away the blood from around the broken skin, soaking the patches where it had dried and carefully pulling the matted fur away so that the wound was clear. Fortunately, it was a simple injury; it only went surface deep, and Phil could see no traces of the bullet – he assumed it must have fallen out while the wolf was running. Phil quickly pressed a square of gauze over the now-clean wound and secured it in place with one of the bandages wrapped around the wolf’s whole midsection, being careful to not disturb the injury as he reached underneath the wolf to pull the bandage around each time.

Finally, Phil turned his attention to the wolf’s broken leg. Through the ragged tear in the swollen skin, Phil could see a glint of dirty-white bone partly crusted over with dried blood; fresh blood weeped from the ruptured capillaries, winding streams around the jagged break and dripping onto the tarp.

The wolf had stayed almost completely still while Phil cleaned the wound on its flank, but it flinched when Phil carefully picked up the injured leg, whining and trying feebly to pull it away. Phil held on, instinctively making soft shushing sounds as he very gently cleaned around the wound. His quiet reassurances seemed to help calm the wolf somewhat, and by the time Phil had wiped away as much of the blood as he could, the wolf was lying obediently still with its eyes fixed on what Phil was doing.

Having cleaned off the majority of the blood, Phil carefully laid the wolf’s paw back down on the tarp and glanced around for something to use as a splint. Nothing really seemed suitable, but his eyes landed on a bag of kindling on top of the crates, and in the absence of any better ideas he stood up and rummaged through the bag for a relatively long and flat piece. Kneeling down next to the wolf again, Phil set the kindling aside for a moment and turned his attention back to the wound, covering it with a piece of gauze and securing it with the bandage, as he had for the other wound.

Once the leg was wrapped in a couple of layers of bandage, Phil reached for the kindling again and showed it to the wolf, letting it sniff as he explained, “This is the best we’ve got for the moment, but I’ll look for something better when I bring the other stuff.”

The wolf watched as Phil lined the makeshift splint up along its leg and continued wrapping the bandage around, making sure that it was secure but not too tight.

Finally, both injuries were patched as best they could be for the moment. Phil stood up to put the leftover first aid supplies back in the tin and replace the box on its shelf before turning to look back at the wolf. The poor creature suddenly looked exhausted, and Phil realised that it probably hadn’t had anything to eat or drink at least since the raid, and he bit his lip as he crouched down again to stroke it comfortingly.

“I should probably go now,” he told it quietly, staring at the soft ears beneath his fingers, “else someone might come and look for me. But I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised, glancing at the wolf’s face and meeting its gaze for a few seconds. “Uh, right; blankets, more medical stuff, food and water – is there anything else I need to bring?”

The wolf didn’t respond, but Phil could sense its gratitude. A small smile crept onto his face as he gave the wolf’s ears one last stroke and then stood up to leave. “I’m going to lock the door,” he told it. “Please stay quiet – if they find you, they’ll kill you, and neither of us want that.”

The wolf twitched its ears in response, and Phil left, glancing back at the poor bundle before he closed the door behind him and snuck back out through the back gate. _He’s still broken,_ Phil thought as he made his way back around to the front of the house, _he’s still broken, but I hope I can help fix him._

*

Dan watched the thin sliver of light disappear as the shed door closed; he heard the lock click back into place, and the soft crunch of the boy’s footsteps back across the garden.

The pain in his leg and flank had dimmed significantly with the boy’s care, and now his thoughts were filled with his growling stomach, worry for his family, and the boy who had saved his life.

Dan didn’t fully trust him yet, but at the moment he had no other choice.

_I just wish I could remember the story about that weird burning feeling I felt when I first looked into his eyes…_

Exhaustion flooded Dan’s body; he laid his head down and closed his eyes, sinking into a deep, healing sleep.

*

Phil let himself in through the front door and was immediately greeted by his mother, putting on her winter coat over a blouse and long skirt.

“Oh, Philip, there you are; your father was about to come looking for you.” She finished fastening the last button and looked at him properly, her face morphing into an expression of shock as she took in his grubby appearance. “What on earth have you been doing?”

Phil looked down at his grubby anorak and trousers. “Just went for a walk,” he muttered.

His mother sighed and reached for her hat, saying, “Well, hurry up and get changed as quickly as you can; we’re going to be late for church.”

 _Ugh._ Phil had forgotten that it was Sunday. Kicking off his boots, Phil headed upstairs and into his room, avoiding his brother’s gaze as he passed Martyn on the landing.

Phil quickly cleaned up and changed into a white shirt and black trousers. His mother and brother were waiting in the hallway when he went back downstairs, looking impatient as Phil laced up his dress shoes and grabbed his jacket, then leading him out to the truck where his father was waiting in the driver’s seat.

As they drove the twenty-five or so minutes to the village, Phil stared out of the window, watching the colours of the trees blur together as they sped past. _What am I going to do with the werewolf?_ It was all very well to feed it and treat its wounds, but what would happen once it was healed? Phil couldn’t keep a grown werewolf in the shed forever, but if he let it free in the forest it would likely be shot within a few days at most.

The drone of his parents’ conversation washed over Phil’s ears, meaningless background noise next to his worried thoughts.

Bill Lester parked just up the road from the church, and the whole family climbed out and hurried inside, slipping into a pew at the back just as the service began.

Phil tried to pay attention to what was being said, but as the vicar waffled on his thoughts drifted back to his werewolf; to the rest of its kind and the circumstances that had led this one to be lying in the Lesters’ garden shed recovering from bullet wounds.

Not for the first time, Phil was angry – angry with the unfairness of the world, with the way that it had become so common that no-one thought twice. _Why must they be treated like they are?_ If Phil had spoken aloud, the questions would have come out growled through gritted teeth. _Why does everyone think it’s ok to kill them and treat them like shit for something that they can’t control, that’s a part of who they are?_ Phil stared sullenly up at the vicar and the cross on the alter, unseeing. _Everyone always says God is so good and loves everyone, but if that’s true then why does He let werewolves be treated so badly?_

All the colours of the room seemed to desaturate as this epiphany crossed Phil’s mind; it was as though God had heard his thoughts and given up on the cheerful and rosy illusion – as though He knew that Phil had seen through the act, and would not be fooled by it again.

*

Dan had no idea how long he slept, but it was the creak of the shed door and a breath of cold air that eventually broke through into his mind and pulled him back to consciousness. His ears twitched as he felt the vibrations of first one, then two footsteps on the floorboards, and his brown eyes blinked open to see the silhouette of the boy standing in the doorway before the light was blocked off.

Dan shifted himself upright onto his belly, staring at the bundle in the boy’s arms, his nose working eagerly. Dan recognised the boy’s scent – a mixture of leaf-mold and artificial lavender – but beneath that he detected the tantalising smell of meat.

His stomach growled pitifully, and the boy smiled as he set the bundle down next to Dan, watching the wolf nudge it with his nose in search of the food.

“Priorities, eh?” the boy laughed, unwrapping the fleece blanket and pulling out a large plastic tub containing three or four beef fillets. “I hope this is alright for you.” He peeled the lid off and set the tub down. Dan dove in eagerly, barely chewing as he swallowed down mouthful after mouthful of raw meat.

While he ate, the boy took another plastic tub and a litre water bottle from the folds of the blanket. He placed the second tub beside the first and unscrewed the lid of the water bottle to pour half of its contents into the tub.

Once all the meat was gone, Dan moved on to the water, lapping it up noisily and splashing droplets over the floor and wall.

Thirst and hunger quenched, Dan swiped his tongue around his muzzle and looked up at the boy, panting happily. The boy had been watching Dan subtly while he ate and drank, and now he grinned.

“Better?” he asked. Dan licked his lips again in response, and then leaned forward to sniff the blanket. The boy picked it up and unfolded it, saying, “I only brought you one for now; I didn’t want my parents wondering where they’d suddenly all gone.”

Dan looked up at him as the boy shook the blanket out and leaned forward to drape it over Dan, tucking the edges in loosely.

“There you go,” the boy smiled, sitting back on his heels. “That’ll keep you a bit warmer – especially overnight, or if you decide you’d rather be human.” The boy paused, watching Dan carefully. Dan met the boy’s gaze evenly, but didn’t respond.

They stared at each other for several long moments, blue meeting brown. The same hot tingling as before began to flow behind Dan’s eyes again, although much less intense this time, and once again Dan felt frustrated that he couldn’t remember the story of what it meant. The boy seemed to be waiting for something, his expression expectant but gentle. After a while, the boy opened his mouth as though to speak, but no sound came out so he sighed and closed it again, breaking the eye contact and looking down at his hands.

Dan blinked confusedly and tilted his head slightly, but the boy didn’t see. His pale hands were tense as he screwed the lid back on the water bottle and placed it down beside the tub with slightly more force than was necessary.

“I’ll leave this here for you,” he said, standing up. “I should get back to the house; they’ll be wondering where I am.” The boy walked over and pushed the door open; “I’ll bring you some more food later.”

With that he was gone. The door clicked shut, and Dan was once again left alone with his thoughts.


	5. Seen

Dan hadn’t shifted for over a quarter Moon, and it was driving him insane.

_Werewolves aren’t meant to stay in one form for a long time; we’re supposed to be fluid and unpredictable, shifting with our emotions and the flow of nature, embracing both sides of who we are. Forcing yourself to stay in one form weakens your connection with your other._

The words of the elders chased around Dan’s mind, along paths worn so deep that he would never be able to forget them. Dan knew it instinctively; he didn’t really need to be told. Or maybe he did. Dan argued back and forth with himself, pacing mentally and sometimes physically around the confines of the shed.

He _could_ shift if he wanted to; the boy obviously already knew he was a werewolf. Things would be easier to explain and discuss if Dan was human. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to be human in front of the boy, or even when the boy wasn’t there – there was no reason, really; Dan just felt like it would be giving up or betraying his kind in some way.

If he was human, he might be able to ask about his family…

Dan’s injuries were healing well, but abnormally slowly for a werewolf. On the one hand, Dan was incredibly frustrated that he hadn’t been able to run or even go outside properly since he was wounded, but a small part of him was glad for the time to think about and prepare for what would happen to him once he was healed and no longer needed the boy’s help.

The boy had been in to check on Dan once or twice a day, to bring him food and fresh water and to let him out to do his business. Dan hadn’t seen the boy today, and now assumed that he wouldn’t until the evening; the boy usually came around Sunrise, if he was coming, and through the grubby window Dan could see that the Sun was already well above the horizon.

Normally Dan would spend the day snoozing or chewing on a spare piece of kindling, but today he was filled with a restless energy; something that had been slowly growing over the past few days, but only now had become so strong that it brimmed and threatened to overflow.

Dan needed to run.

He needed to drain the energy before it spilled over into something that could be potentially dangerous.

He stood up from his nest of blankets and stepped over to his water bowl. Dark droplets splashed the wooden wall and floorboards as he lapped up a few gulps. Once his thirst was quenched, Dan lifted his head, muzzle dripping, and crossed to the door of the shed. He stood for several moments, ears pricked, listening.

On the other side was only silence, punctuated by the rustle of trees in the breeze.

Dan pressed his shoulder against the door and pushed hard. It didn’t move, but he hadn’t really expected it to; the boy always made sure that the bolt was secure before he left. The problem for Dan was that the bolt was on the outside. _Not that way, then._

Turning back to the room, Dan’s nose twitched, snuffing the air for any other possible exits. As he pressed his snout against the gap between one of the crates and the wall, Dan detected a very faint whiff of fresh, cold air: there was a hole in the back wall of the shed, probably made by rats if the smell was anything to go off, covered by a piece of waterproof plastic tarp but just about big enough for a young wolf. Dan reached out a paw and clawed at the gap, but the crate didn’t move. A grunt of frustration escaped him: he would need fingers to be able to shift it.

Dan stepped backwards and glanced anxiously towards the door again. Nothing had changed in the small, Sunlit room – nothing except the rate of Dan’s heart echoing against the wood.

He couldn’t wait for the evening, when the boy would come and let him out, bring him easy food and care for his wounds.

He had to go _now_.

Dan closed his eyes and concentrated; a tingling feeling spread through his whole body, flowing to the end of his nose and the tip of his tail, and down to the toes on all four paws. On the wall behind him, Dan’s shadow began to morph and grow.

*

The house was deserted when Phil got back from school, which was perfect in his opinion: it was a lot easier to sneak out to check on the werewolf if there was no-one around to ask awkward questions.

He hadn’t been able to see the werewolf that morning; he had overslept his alarm, and by the time his mum came in to wake him up (in a very loud and urgent manner) he’d had only ten minutes to get ready and leave.

Phil dumped his bag in his room and quickly got changed out of his uniform and into an old T-shirt and a pair of hiking trousers. He then headed down to the kitchen – avoiding the eyes of the trophies on the wall – and rummaged through the fridge for some meat to take out for the werewolf. He grabbed a foil package of leftover chicken from the night before, and filled a water bottle before making his way down the garden to the shed.

The bolt slid back and the door creaked open, and it took Phil’s eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom.

The blanket nest was empty, and one of the crates had been dragged into the middle of the room. Phil’s eyes widened with worry; his heartbeat was loud in his ears as he set the chicken and water on the floor before crossing over to investigate. The alcove where the crate used to be was empty except for old rat droppings and a couple of dead spiders, but in the back wall of the shed was a large hole, chewed around the edges. Clinging to the splinters were several clusters of coarse brown wolf fur.

“Fuck,” Phil breathed, standing up straight and looking around at the open door behind him. Leaving the chicken and water forgotten on the floor, Phil strode back outside and round the side of the shed to where the gate was situated. He pushed it open and looked out helplessly at the tangled forest spreading in every direction. “Fuck,” he repeated, louder this time. Phil turned and ran back to the house.

He reappeared a few seconds later, tugging on his anorak. With a determined expression on his face and swollen dark clouds gathering overhead, Phil headed out into the forest to find his wolf.

*

Rain poured down relentlessly, running through Dan’s fur in rivulets and soaking him to the skin, but he didn’t care: _I’m free._

It had taken Dan longer than expected to escape the shed; even after moving the crate out of the way – which had also taken a while, as one, it was quite heavy; two, Dan could only really use his right hand (his off hand, inconveniently); and three, his human muscles had atrophied slightly from spending so long in his wolf shift – the space it left gave Dan a very awkward angle to approach the hole from. Once he had shifted back to wolf, he used his teeth to rip the plastic tarp away from the hole, but it took a lot of wriggling to force his way through; it was a bit of a tight fit, and a strain on his wounds, but at last Dan tumbled out, and he was free.

He had run for as long as he physically could, then slowed to a trot when it became too much for his still-not-fully-healed leg. Shifting human had loosened the bandages around his injuries, particularly the one around his middle, and now the wound was open to the cold sting of the rain; he must have lost the bandage at some point while he was running. The one around his foreleg was hanging loose, the makeshift kindling splint still wrapped up but swinging slightly with every painful, limping step. It was really too soon to have been running on it, but Dan thought it was worth it for the freedom.

At last he stopped, panting heavily, in a small clearing between a large, bare-branched oak and a cluster of bushes. Dan tilted his head upwards and closed his eyes, both calmed and exhilarated by the cool droplets tracing lines down his face, and the fresh scent of autumn air in his nostrils.

_Freedom._

Dan didn’t know for how long he stood there, drinking in the scents and sounds of nature; allowing his senses to spread out into the forest; all his worries washed away by the rain: _freedom._

His leg began to ache, and he sat down. Dan lowered his face and opened his eyes, staring, mesmerized, at the intricacies of colour that covered the forest floor, saturated by contrast of the dull tones of the rain: _beautiful, and free._

He needed to shift again. He could feel it, like an uncomfortable ache that needs stretching after being in the same position for too long. Dan closed his eyes and concentrated, and the tingling spread through his body like the rain that ran across his skin.

*

Phil’s fringe was plastered to his forehead as he pushed his way through the trees and undergrowth that snatched at his coat and trousers, trying to make him stay. His eyes constantly darted around, scanning for any sign of the wolf. Phil had no idea which direction the wolf might have headed; it could be anywhere by now, could already be dead…

Phil didn’t want to risk calling; didn’t want to risk drawing the attention of anyone who might be listening and ask who he was looking for. Phil didn’t even know what name to call – so he just kept going.

He stopped suddenly, blinking and shaking his fringe out of his eyes, glancing around for what his eyes had noticed that his brain hadn’t. _There;_ caught on a bramble a few metres ahead on Phil’s left: something off-white, long and thin, and dripping rainwater.

Phil fought his way over and bent down to untangle it. It was a bandage, grubby and soaked, and clinging to the unravelling threads were two or three coarse brown hairs: _the wolf came this way._ Phil stood up straight again and looked around, winding the bandage up around one hand; a little way further on, the square of gauze was lying in a muddy puddle, stained brown and dark red.

Encouraged by these finds, Phil hurried on with renewed energy, pausing only to pick up the gauze and stuff both it and the bandage in the pocket of his anorak.

*

It had been about twenty minutes since Phil had found the bandage, and he was beginning to lose hope again. He slowed to a walk, panting slightly, and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, turning in a slow circle as he walked.

 _This is hopeless,_ he thought, moaning internally. _It could be_ literally anywhere, _and it might not even be alive any more. Why don’t I just fucking give –_

He didn’t finish the thought. Phil froze, one hand still over his face, staring through the trees at a grey-brown shape half-visible between leaves. Phil stepped closer, trying to get a better look that would confirm his first sight.

It was; it was _his wolf;_ it still had the bandage around its leg.

But something was happening to it; the wolf was shaking, tense; its body was growing, the fur fading into pale skin. _It’s shifting._

Phil paused a few metres away, separated by a cluster of bushes and a species barrier. He watched curiously as the wolf became a human, crouched on the fallen leaves with raindrops drawing lines over the smooth skin of its bare back.

The creature’s head was down, face hidden by shadow and waves of curly brown hair. Phil stepped closer; his foot landed on a twisted stick, and at the sharp snap the werewolf’s head jerked up to watch him.

“Hey,” Phil murmured gently, not wanting to scare it away; “only me – nothing to worry about.” Phil stepped carefully into the clearing, taking in the werewolf’s new appearance.

It appeared to be a boy around Phil’s own age. He had creamy pale skin and soft-looking, albeit soaking wet, curly brown hair, and his brown eyes were the same ones that Phil had last seen looking at him out of a wolf’s face.

“Hi,” Phil said, crouching down in front of the werewolf, who shuffled a couple of inches backwards, eyeing Phil warily. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” Phil promised. “I haven’t yet, have I?”

The werewolf glanced down briefly, and after a moment he shook his head slightly. Phil moved his eyes to the werewolf’s left arm, where the bandage was beginning to stain red. “I can put some more stuff on that, if you want?” he suggested, nodding towards it. The werewolf glanced at the red stain and slowly brought his arm up to his chest, cradling it protectively, but he didn’t answer; only eyed Phil cautiously.

Phil sighed. “I can’t force you to come back to the house,” he murmured, “but if I leave you out here you’ll probably be dead within a week. I’m sorry to be so harsh,” he continued as the werewolf looked away, “but it’s the truth. It’s dangerous out here for your kind, and I’m probably your best bet for staying alive.”

The werewolf looked thoughtful. Phil waited patiently for him to respond. After a minute, the werewolf looked up at Phil and nodded slowly.

Phil smiled and stood up, holding out a hand to help the werewolf up. The werewolf sniffed it, then hesitantly accepted.

The two of them stood for a moment, facing each other in the rain, almost exactly the same height. The werewolf was completely naked and very attractive, if a little skinny, and Phil struggled to keep his gaze from straying as he asked, “What’s your name, by the way?”

The werewolf blinked. “Dan.” His voice was hoarse and faint, faded from lack of use.

“Hi, Dan,” Phil smiled. “I’m Phil.” The werewolf nodded in acknowledgement, the pale ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

A few more seconds passed in silence, and Phil noticed that Dan was shivering. He quickly pulled off his anorak and held it out to Dan; “Um, do you want my coat?” The werewolf nodded, a thankful almost-smile on his face as he took the offered coat and put it on.

As Dan turned slightly to pull the sleeve over his injured arm, Phil noticed that the wound on the werewolf’s side was healing well, scabbed over, although the skin around it was pink with cold. Phil smiled at Dan as the werewolf turned to look back at him, and Dan smiled back, still faint but more solid than the others so far had been.

“Come on, then,” Phil murmured, indicating the way he had come from. “Let’s go home.”

Dan nodded, and the two of them headed back through the forest to the house, the only sounds between them the hypnotic pattering of raindrops on leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, they finally know each other's names (5 chapters in lol) and I can stop calling Dan 'it'.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter; next one should be coming within the next couple of weeks. Let me know your thoughts in the comments or on Tumblr @ky-thewolf


	6. Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter has taken so long to come out - I hope to be able to get the next one out within a couple of weeks, but if I can't there should at least be 2 or possibly 3 updates over the Christmas holidays (assuming article 13 doesn't fuck everything up)  
> Thank you for all your support and comments, they really make my day <3
> 
>  
> 
> TW: mild gore, death mention

Phil kept his eyes ahead as he led Dan back towards the house. The werewolf had left the raincoat open (whether by choice or because he didn’t know how the zipper worked, Phil wasn’t sure) and seemed unconcerned about how little of him was actually covered, and Phil was trying not to stare.

They walked in silence, in their own separate worlds of thought. The cold rain quickly soaked Phil’s T-shirt, pressing it against his back and shoulders like a heavy, frozen blanket of discomfort. Phil shivered violently, a sudden twinge that spasmed through his whole body, and shook his dripping fringe out of his eyes, rubbing his hands over the landscape of goosebumps on his arms to try and stimulate some kind of warmth.

Dan kept his head down as they walked; the hood covered everything except his freckled nose and a single damp brown curl. He watched the ground pass beneath him, placing each near-silent step with a care that could only come from a lifetime spent in nature. Phil was intrigued by the werewolf’s apparent indifference to his bare feet against the sharp twigs and other discomforts that littered the forest floor.

After what seemed like a surprisingly short time, the Lester house came into view through the trees. Dan dropped behind as they approached, and once Phil had opened the gate it took only a moment’s hesitation before the werewolf hurried through and allowed Phil to close it behind them both.

Once they were back in the shed, Dan removed Phil’s coat and settled himself cross-legged on his makeshift bed, picking up one of the blankets and pulling it around his shoulders, cocooning himself in the grubby fleece so that only his head was visible. He watched as Phil closed the door and pushed the crate back into its place against the wall, blocking off the draft that had been blowing through the hole. Once that was done, Phil picked up the water bottle and foil packet of chicken from where he had left them and offered them to Dan, who accepted with a small smile.

As the werewolf carefully unwrapped the foil parcel, Phil sat down on the dusty floorboards with his back against the shed wall and his forearms resting on his knees. His damp clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin when he moved.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds in the shed were those of movement: the muffled thuds of rain pounding the roof, and a small waterfall that ran off one corner of the A-frame and splashed onto the grass just outside the door; the metallic rustling and soft chewing as Dan carefully picked out another piece of chicken; the damp squelch of Phil wringing water out of his T-shirt and hair.

When Dan had finished eating, he placed the empty foil on the floor and had a drink from the water bottle before glancing uncertainly at Phil. The black-haired boy smiled comfortingly as he pushed himself to his feet and turned to once again lift the first aid box down from the shelf. He rummaged through it for a fresh bandage and piece of gauze and another antiseptic wipe, and as he knelt down in front of Dan again the werewolf obediently held out his left arm. The red stain on the old dressing was much darker than it had been before, which at least seemed to suggest that the bleeding had stopped, and the kindling was still wrapped within the bandage. Phil carefully unwound it, bundling the stained material in his hand as he went; he paused to remove the kindling where small splinters had caught, and set it down on the floor to one side before continuing to unwrap the rest of the bandage.

While he worked, Phil was very aware of how smooth Dan’s skin was beneath his fingers. He was aware of how close Dan’s hand was to his own chest, and how the werewolf’s deep brown eyes were attentive to his every move.

As the last of the bandage came away from Dan’s arm, Phil felt the werewolf flinch slightly; he glanced up at Dan’s face, which was turned slightly away from the sight of the bloody gauze and scrunched by a faint frown.

“You alright?” Phil asked, hands stilling for a moment.

The werewolf nodded stiffly, blinking rapidly.

“Does it hurt?”

Another nod. Phil sighed softly.

“I’ve got to clean it,” he murmured gently. “I’ll be careful.”

Dan glanced at the black-haired boy, eyes wary, but he stayed still as Phil slowly peeled off the gauze.

The wound actually looked a lot better, apart from being covered in dried blood; it had scabbed over cleanly, and the swelling had gone down significantly, which implied that the bone had knitted back together correctly. Phil held Dan’s arm loosely in his left hand as he reached for an antiseptic wipe, saying in surprise, “Wow, that’s healed really quickly – is that normal for you?”

He glanced up as he began to gently wipe around the wound, and Dan nodded.

“Werewolves always heal fast,” he murmured after a pause. Phil smiled at the brunet’s croaky voice, pleased that Dan was comfortable speaking to him.

“That’s so cool.” He grinned encouragingly at the werewolf, who gave him a small smile in response.

Once Phil had finished cleaning the wound, he dropped the used wipe next to the discarded foil and allowed Dan to take his arm back, saying, “I think it would be worth leaving it uncovered overnight, to let it breathe a bit. I think the bone’s healed, it’s just the muscle. Does it hurt when you move your wrist?”

Dan studied the wound for a moment before experimentally bending his wrist back and forth and round in circles. “Maybe a little bit,” he told Phil quietly.

Phil nodded, grinning, and moved to sit with his back against the wall again, pushing the rubbish out of the way to make space for himself. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, then Phil asked, “Um, how old are you, Dan?”

The werewolf looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds before saying, “Sixteen summers.”

“Me too,” Phil smiled. “I’ll be seventeen this winter.” Phil blinked, and his smile faded as he remembered what his next birthday would bring to his life: a gun, the pressure of his family’s reputation, the weight of taking innocent lives…

Phil looked down at his lap and sighed, closing his eyes to block out the confused expression on Dan’s face.

“I’m so sorry about your pack,” he murmured after a moment, opening his eyes and glancing at the werewolf, who suddenly slumped as though the emotional wall that had been holding him up had been knocked out from under him. “I hate that life is so unfair for your kind,” Phil continued, “and I hate my family’s part in that.”

Dan didn’t respond for a long time. Eventually, he looked up at Phil and whispered, “Did… did anyone survive?”

“I don’t know,” Phil told him quietly.

“My mother?” the werewolf asked desperately. “My brother? He’s only a pup…” Dan’s brown eyes were brimming with tears, his lip trembling slightly.

Phil opened his mouth, then sighed and closed it again, remembering the conversation at breakfast the morning after the raid. “I… I don’t know,” he whispered. “My dad mentioned that they, um… they found a, uh, a wounded female, and… a crying cub next to her. He said that they…” Phil didn’t finish; there was a lump in his throat, and as he watched a single shining tear roll down Dan’s cheek, he couldn’t bring himself to say _killed them_.

Dan sniffed loudly, his shoulders hunched and shaking, his head bowed low to hide his face. Phil looked away and rubbed one hand across his own eyes; his fingers were wet when they came away.

“I’m so sorry, Dan,” he said, his voice croaking slightly. As the werewolf continued to sob, Phil added, “They might not have been your family, it might’ve been someone else –” He stopped when Dan shook his head and looked up, not meeting Phil’s gaze as he wiped his face on the blanket.

“Don’t,” Dan said forcefully. “I should’ve realised they won’t’ve…” Dan stopped and shook his head again. “You hunters are relentless.” He bent over and buried his face in the blanket, his whole body shaking with sobs.

Phil blinked in surprise, unsure what to do. When Dan didn’t move, he got to his feet. “I’ll get you some clothes and some more blankets,” he said stiffly, bending to pick up the bits of rubbish and his anorak before going to leave. As he placed his hand on the door to open it, Phil turned back for one last look at the bowed figure of the werewolf, and his voice was firm as he said, “I am not like my family, Dan. Remember that. If I was, you would already be… Well, I care about you, ok? I don’t want that to happen to you.”

With that, Phil left, heading out across the dark garden and pushing the door closed behind him.

*

Dan heard the lock click back into place and raised his head, staring ahead through tear-blurred vision.

He knew he shouldn’t have said that to Phil – to the boy who had only ever tried to help him, who had been kind to him when any other human would watch him die with no remorse.

Dan sniffed loudly, fighting the urge to break down again. He _wouldn’t_ break; he had to be strong, for his mother and for Adrian – he had to make them proud, to survive and keep their memory alive.

He sat up straight and took several deep, slow breaths, calming himself and letting the tears dry on his cheeks.

_He would stay strong._

*

The house was still empty when Phil got in, which he thought was strange, but he put it to the back of his mind as he dumped the rubbish in the kitchen bin and hurried upstairs to his room. He threw open his wardrobe and began rummaging through his clothes for something that Dan could wear. Phil subconsciously found himself thinking about what would look good against the werewolf’s pale skin, what would go well with his soft brown curls to make him look irresistibly adorable…

_What the fuck?_ Phil suddenly thought, lowering the pastel blue sweatshirt he had been holding up. _What am I thinking? Snap out of it, Phil – he just needs something simple and warm, it doesn’t need to look good._ Phil shook his head and tossed the sweatshirt onto his bed, reaching instead for a faded black hoodie, a plain white T-shirt and some old grey trackeys. He pondered if the werewolf would want underwear, and decided to grab a pair of boxers just in case. Phil then went to the cupboard on the landing to get another blanket, before wrapping the clothes in it and heading back downstairs.

The werewolf’s eyes were dry when Phil opened the shed door. Dan didn’t look at him as he set down his bundle and began extracting the different items.

Dan glanced up as Phil held out the clothes to him, smiling slightly as he took them and lowered the bundle onto his lap, his fingers playing absent-mindedly with the material. After a moment, he looked up at Phil and said, “I’m sorry I said that stuff to you.”

Phil shook his head as he sat down on the floor; “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Dan insisted. “You’re right, you’re not like your family. You’ve only ever been kind to me, and all I’ve done to repay you is run away and accuse you.”

Phil blinked and looked down at his hands, thinking as he picked at his fingernails. “Why did you run away?” he asked cautiously after a minute.

Dan paused before replying. “I felt trapped and needed to run,” he said eventually. “I’m used to being free, and I couldn’t wait any longer; I might’ve hurt you.”

Phil nodded slowly. “I know I shouldn’t have kept you locked in for so long; I just didn’t want you to end up getting shot if I let you out. Tell you what,” he added after a pause, “if you need to get out more, I could come and let you out at night? And obviously I’ll be there to make sure no-one attacks you.”

A smile began to spread across the werewolf’s face. “Yeah, that’d be good,” he murmured gratefully. Phil grinned and nodded back, and a comfortable silence fell between them. Phil looked back at his hands, but after a minute he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over at Dan, and watched in surprise as the brunet boy yawned widely and began to shift.

The wolf stood up and stepped out of his nest, the blanket sliding off his furry back as he moved towards Phil. The black-haired boy blinked in surprise as Dan lay down next to him, curled up with his side pressed against Phil’s thigh and his muzzle tucked around to his hind paw. The wolf’s brown eyes closed, and he sighed contentedly as Phil cautiously lowered one hand to rest on Dan’s side.

Phil had never had a dog before – his parents only saw use in them if they earned their keep by hunting – but when he started to gently run his fingers through the coarse outer coat to the softer fur beneath, contented little whining noises began escaping through Dan’s nose, and Phil smiled, continuing to pet the werewolf long after Dan had fallen asleep.


	7. Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this chapter finished a lot sooner than I thought I would, so here it is early!  
> Thank you all so much for the continued support of this fic, ily all <3

Over the next week, Dan and Phil began spending more time together. Most days, Phil made sure to get up extra early so that he could visit Dan before school, and he often brought with him breakfast for both of them so that they could eat together and talk, or just enjoy each other’s company in silence. Phil stopped coming in the afternoons, instead waiting until after his family had gone to bed and the house had grown dark and silent before making his way out of the back door and across the garden to spend the nights exploring the forest with Dan.

Dan enjoyed their nightly excursions; it gave him a chance to get out and run, to feel the cold breeze through his fur and the damp earth under his paws. Dan also practiced hunting, and sometimes he even managed to catch something, which meant that Phil didn’t have to worry about bringing him breakfast the next morning.

Dan had found himself growing increasingly fond of Phil; he was deeply intrigued by the gentle boy who was so unlike his family and willing to risk so much for Dan – the views of human society, his parents’ anger, even his own sleep schedule. One of Dan’s favourite things to do was sneak up on Phil from behind and leap out at him, knocking him playfully and making him jump; Dan loved Phil’s infectiously happy laugh and his endearing tongue-between-teeth smile, and the way his blue eyes sparkled joyfully in the Moonlight. 

There was something reassuring about Phil being there; something about knowing that he was nearby that made Dan feel safe and warm, despite the winter air. The two of them often wandered for hours, far from the house, only returning when the Moon began to set so that they could get a few hours’ sleep before seeing each other again when the Sun rose.

Phil also began to realise how much he enjoyed spending time with the werewolf. There was a kind of puppy-like joy in the way Dan moved when they walked through the forest, a skip in his no-longer-limping step that always brought a smile to Phil’s face no matter how difficult his day had been. Phil also noticed the little things about Dan’s human form: the one longer curl of hair that always lay adorably out of place on his forehead; the dimples that were always prominent on his face whenever he was around Phil; the way he yawned and stretched with an adorable puppyish squeak when Phil woke him up in the mornings, the blankets falling away to reveal the smooth, pale skin of his torso. Whenever they made eye contact, Phil found himself getting lost in the werewolf’s deep brown eyes, mapping their tiny details in his mind so that he would never forget them, always aware of the strange warm sensation in the background.

*

Dan was a lot more alert when Phil let him out of the garden on Sunday night, almost a week later. Dan walked ahead purposefully, his ears pricked and nose snuffing the air. Phil followed him at a short distance, watching but giving the werewolf space, as usual.

They wandered through the trees for a while, but this time Dan was performing none of his normal antics; he simply walked, attentive to the scents and sounds around him and paying little attention to Phil.

Just as Phil was about to ask if everything was alright, Dan suddenly stopped dead, all senses honed on something straight ahead through the trees. Phil stepped closer, but before he could do anything Dan sprinted off, following some ancient instinct deeper into the forest.

Phil stood where Dan had left him for a few moments, blinking in surprise, then took off after the werewolf, calling out, “Hey, Dan! Wait up!”

Dan’s pounding footsteps didn’t slow; every fibre of his being was focused on the _something_ that was drawing him in like a moth to light. But Dan _was_ aware of Phil behind him, and he also had to make sure Phil kept following him towards the _something_ – because Dan had finally remembered the meaning behind the hot feeling he got whenever he made eye contact with Phil.

“Dan! Slow down!” Phil was falling behind, his human body much less agile than Dan’s wolf one when weaving between trees and leaping over logs and undergrowth. A couple of times, Phil almost tripped over hidden brambles, but just about managed to catch himself and keep running. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he didn’t want to lose sight of Dan, so he kept going despite his aching legs and screaming lungs.

Finally, Dan disappeared through a tight cluster of trees and bushes, and Phil had to stop running. He was panting so hard he could barely think, and he was limping slightly on one foot from when he had almost twisted his ankle on a tree root, but without hesitation he began pushing his way through the branches. Phil squinted against the sharp thorns and twigs that scraped across his skin and caught at his clothes, but he kept on, fighting through after Dan.

Then suddenly there was no resistance, and Phil found himself in a clearing.

Dan was standing a few metres in front of Phil, head bent down to lap water from a strangely still pool in the centre of the clearing, into which a small waterfall trickled from a crevice in the rock on the opposite side. Beneath Phil’s shoes, instead of the twig-and-leaf-littered ground of the forest, was soft grass, stained a beautiful deep blue-green in the starlight, and the entire clearing was encircled by a dense wall of lush evergreen trees. Hanging in the sky above was the thinnest claw of crescent Moon, whose light reflected in the glittering surface of the pool and made the water appear to glow.

The whole place had an air of mystery and tranquillity, perhaps even magic in its stark contrast to the rest of the surrounding forest.

As Phil stepped further into the clearing, Dan lifted his dripping muzzle from the pool and turned to face the black-haired boy, shifting to become the brunet boy crouched on the grass.

“What is this place?” Phil murmured, still looking around in awe.

“It’s a sacred place for werewolves,” Dan replied softly, watching him. “No human has ever come here… until now.”

Phil looked at him in surprise. “I’m the first?” Dan nodded. “I don’t understand,” Phil frowned, “how has no-one found this place before? I’ve lived here my whole life and never heard of it.”

Dan shrugged. “It can only be found by those who are allowed to find it.”

“How does that work?” Phil asked, confused.

“I don’t know,” Dan murmured, looking over his shoulder at the Moon. “She has her ways.”

Phil continued to look confused, but Dan didn’t elaborate. Instead, the werewolf looked back at him and indicated the pool.

“Drink.”

Phil hesitated, but when Dan’s brown eyes remained fixed hopefully on him he approached the pool and knelt down a little way away from Dan, cupping water in his hands and bringing it to his lips. It tasted clean and cold, but not icy like Phil had expected; it filled him with a feeling of calm, and for a few moments his senses seemed to sharpen.

Wiping his hands on his trousers, Phil turned his head to look around the clearing again, conscious of Dan still watching him. “Why did you bring me here, Dan?” he asked quietly, looking back and meeting the werewolf’s eyes after a minute.

Dan blinked and looked away, appearing to address the water when he spoke: “I felt the soulmate burn.”

Phil frowned. “The what?”

“Soulmate burn.” Dan picked absent-mindedly at the grass. “The elders used to tell stories… they said that you know when you’ve met your soulmate because the first time you make eye contact, you get this hot feeling behind your eyes, called the soulmate burn. The first time my eyes met yours…” He tailed off and shrugged, still picking at the grass.

Phil was shocked. This couldn’t be made up – how would Dan know that Phil had felt that same sensation? On the other hand, how could it be real?

Dan looked up to meet Phil’s surprised blue eyes, causing the feeling to bubble up again and burn away any doubt Phil had.

“Soulmates don’t have to be romantic,” Dan whispered, shuffling closer to Phil, “but… I think I would like to be, if you’re comfortable with that. I really like you, Phil.”

“I really like you too, Dan,” Phil told him, gaze straying down momentarily before coming back up to the werewolf’s eyes.

Dan smiled shyly, causing his dimples to appear. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Phil’s heart was racing almost as fast as it had been a few minutes ago when he was sprinting through the forest, and he was sure Dan could hear it as well. In the faint light from the Moon and stars, Dan’s pale skin looked perfect, white and glowing; his hair was bleached soft silver, and his eyes appeared so deep they were almost black. In short, he looked beautiful.

Without thinking, Phil nodded and turned his body so that he was facing Dan properly.

Dan shuffled closer so that their legs were touching, and as the werewolf leaned in, Phil’s mind was filled with thoughts of how _wrong_ this should feel; it was literally going against everything Phil had ever been taught by the homophobic and racist society he lived in… and yet none of that mattered because it was _Dan_.

None of that mattered because now Dan’s lips were on his, and it was the best feeling of Phil’s life.

Phil closed his eyes contentedly. It was as though nothing existed in the world beyond the two of them in this moment: Dan’s hand leaning on Phil’s thigh; Phil’s resting on the smooth skin of Dan’s bare hip; their lips moving together softly.

Phil would never have thought that his first kiss would be with a werewolf, or even another boy, let alone both in one, but he was just happy to be sharing it with Dan, _his_ Dan, his soulmate.

Fate had intended for them to be together; nothing could feel more _right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed that ;P  
> how long do you think the happiness will last? >:)


	8. Discovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a very short one, but this is where shit gets real
> 
> **TW: domestic abuse; death threats**

Phil’s happy feeling never dimmed for the whole of the next day. On the outside, he went about his lessons as usual, quiet and isolated; but on the inside, it felt like there was a helium-filled balloon in his chest, buoying him up and making him resistant to any negativity that came near him.

Nothing could dampen his mood, Phil thought as he walked home, unable to stop a wide grin from spreading across his face now that there was no-one around to judge him for it. _Nothing can take this away from me._

But when he got within sight of the house, Phil’s smile wavered.

His father was standing in the doorway waiting for him, beefy arms crossed and feet planted wide. Bill’s cold eyes were fixed on the approaching figure of his younger son, and his expression was one of barely contained anger.

Phil slowed his pace as he walked up the driveway, avoiding his father’s gaze. “Hi, dad,” he called nervously. “Everything alr–”

“You have a lot of explaining to do, Philip.” Bill’s voice was dripping with a fury so tangible that Phil could almost see it hissing and steaming as it fell from his father’s lips and landed on the stone steps. “Get inside.”

Bill turned and stormed into the house, giving Phil no choice but to follow with his heart thumping painfully in his throat. The balloon that had held his happiness all day had finally been burst; all that was left of it as Phil closed the door behind himself was an imagined piece of shrivelled rubber, lying sadly on the damp tarmac of the street.

Phil’s dad led him down the hallway to the basement door and wordlessly pointed him down into the darkness. Bill had never looked so angry, and Phil was terrified as he stepped past and descended the stairs.

The aged wood creaked beneath his feet as he descended. In the otherwise silent basement, Phil was suddenly aware of a whistling whine punctuating the air – a sound he had heard once before, and one that made his heart stop.

Behind him, there was a click as Phil’s dad flicked a switch; the single lightbulb buzzed to life, and Phil couldn’t breathe.

Illuminated by the bright white light, every crevice stood out on the bare stone walls; the wooden workbench along one wall was littered with heavy metal DIY tools, the dust disturbed where something had been grabbed and put down out of place; but worst of all, in the centre of the floor sat a metal crate – a crate containing the crumpled form of a wolf.

“Dan!”

Phil threw himself down the rest of the stairs and onto his knees beside the crate, poking his fingers through the bars to stroke the coarse brown fur. A tight muzzle was clamped around Dan’s snout, digging painfully into his face. His brown eyes were desperate as they met Phil’s blue ones, but before Phil could say anything he felt a rough hand grab his shirt at the shoulder, pinching his skin painfully and wrenching him backwards.

Bill’s expression was furious on the verge of insanity as he threw his son away from the crate. Phil stumbled with the violence of the action, slamming against the workbench with such force that the whole room shook, the tools rattling loudly against the wooden surface.

Seconds passed with no sound but heavy breathing. In the light of the bare bulb swinging overhead, Bill stood in between Phil and the crate, towering over his terrified son: his teeth were bared in a snarl; his fists were clenched so tightly that the knuckles were white, and his eyes were wide and staring. He looked so crazy with anger that, in that moment, Phil could understand why ‘mad’ was a synonym for both; they were almost interchangeable in his father’s expression.

“Get out.” Bill’s voice was dangerously soft.

Phil didn’t move. _Couldn’t_ move; fight-or-flight had abandoned him and left his muscles frozen. He couldn’t look away from his father’s face; Bill’s gaze drew him in like a black hole, intimidating and inescapable.

“GET OUT!” Bill yelled, pointing up the stairs. “Get to your room and fucking stay there!”

His father’s harsh voice shocked Phil into movement. He pushed himself off the workbench to stand upright, hitching his displaced schoolbag back onto his shoulder. Nervously, Phil edged along the wall towards the stairs, still not daring to take his eyes off his father. As he rounded the banister and set one foot on the bottom step, Phil’s gaze flicked momentarily to Dan in the cage, and as he did so his father’s hand swung out of nowhere to smack him violently across the face. Phil over-balanced and crashed against the wall to crumple on the stairs, hiding his face with one arm as Bill raised a hand to hit him again.

“GO! You’re a disgrace to this family!” he shouted as Phil scrambled to his feet and stumbled up the stairs as quickly as he could physically manage. As he emerged into the hallway and began climbing the stairs to the upper floor, he heard his father speak again.

“And as for you,” Bill threatened, turning to Dan as the wolf let out a whimper of protest, “you don’t deserve the dignity of a quick death! Let’s see how you cope in there without food, and if you’re still alive after a week – well,” he said, a sadistic smile contorting his face even further, “hunting dogs need bait, and once they’re done with you, we’ll take what’s left of your mangled pelt and hang it in the forest as a warning to the rest of you mutts about what happens when you mess with the Lesters!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will probably also be shorter, but after that it will get back into longer chapters


	9. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: vomiting; panic attack; implied threatened disowning

A cold isolation settled over the house after that.

Dan’s cage had been locked in the basement, as Bill had promised; left alone in the dark to gather dust like everything else in the dingy room, in silence except for the muffled footsteps and voices that drifted through the cracks from the house above. Dan had nothing to do but lie there in pain, physically and emotionally, with no room to shift, haunted by bloodstained thoughts of emptiness and broken hearts and deaths. Within only a couple of days, Dan wanted to scream with the pain of the hunger that clawed at his belly like an angry bear; it scratched at his throat and made him throw up dark bile that stuck to the straps of the muzzle and filled Dan’s nose with the stench of despair.

Phil was forbidden from going anywhere near the basement door. He was only allowed out of the house for school, to and from which he was driven by his father or brother with a mistrusting and disgusted expression. Whenever he was at home, Phil was confined to his room, where he spent most of his time lying on his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. His rationed meals were brought up to him by his mother, who dropped the food on his desk and left without saying a word to him. Even so, Phil hardly ate; it didn’t feel right, when Dan was being starved beneath his feet, but as much as he tried to fight it, every so often instinct took over and forced him to eat a few mouthfuls before he was able to control himself to stop and return to his bed.

It took a few days for the bruises and swelling to fade from Phil’s body. No-one at school had questioned it; no-one cared. Phil just kept his head down, making little effort with his work, just waiting for the time when he could come home and do nothing. During his hours of depressed inactivity, Phil was constantly trying to think of ways to get Dan out, but every mental runthrough led to a dead end.

It wouldn’t be easy: the basement was locked, as was Dan’s cage, and one of the keys had been hung on a chain around Phil’s father’s neck, tauntingly within reach but agonizingly inaccessible.

As the week went on, both Dan and Phil were rapidly losing hope of freedom for either of them.

*

_Walls closing in… can’t move… pinned down by invisible weight on his chest… can’t breathe... tight around his throat, choking him… can’t breathe… drowning in thick air… can’t breathe…_

Dan jerked awake violently, panting heavily as he slammed his shoulders against the sides of the cage. He was desperate to get out; to run, shift, scream, anything – just get away from the oppression of the cage in the blackness.

Dan sat on his haunches and lifted his head as much as he could, letting his emotions burst out in the form of a heart-wrenching, ghostly howl. It was difficult to make a sound with the muzzle clamping his jaws together, but Dan was able to open his mouth just enough to release a cry of utter desolation loud enough to echo through the whole house.

Upstairs in the darkness of his bedroom, Phil’s chest tightened as the first howl reached his ears. As Dan’s cries continued, tears welled up in Phil’s eyes and overflowed down his cheeks, and silent sobs shook his whole body. He just felt so fucking _helpless_ ; unable to do anything to help Dan or even himself. He felt as much of a prisoner as Dan was, except Phil’s cage was more emotional than physical.

Phil listened anxiously as his father’s heavy footsteps thudded across the landing and down the stairs, accompanied by Bill’s gruff, complaining voice. The basement door clicked and creaked open, and a second later the sound of something heavy hitting metal made Phil jump.

“Shut up!” Bill yelled, hitting the cage again. Dan had stopped howling, but the echo of the rattling bars was punctuated by high-pitched whining.

“Shut up else I’ll shoot you on the spot!”

This time, Dan fell silent. The basement door slammed shut, and Bill’s footsteps thumped back upstairs. Phil lay still, pretending to be asleep, his heart pounding anxiously as his father’s footsteps paused at the top of the stairs and then came towards Phil’s room.

The handle turned and the door opened. “Philip.”

Phil jumped at his father’s voice, raising his head to look at the silhouette standing in the doorway. As Bill stepped into the room, Phil reached to turn his lamp on, staring nervously up at his father’s face.

“Y-yeah?” Phil asked, trying and failing to pass off his fear for tiredness.

“Next time there’s a werewolf raid, you’re coming with us.” Bill didn’t waste time beating around the bush; he spoke firmly and bluntly, making it clear that there was no room for discussion.

Phil gulped. “Dad, wait –”

“I’ve made up my mind, Philip. Next raid, you’re coming with us, and so help me you’re gonna shoot one of those mutts if it’s the last thing you do.” Lit from below by the artificial yellow light of Phil’s lamp, Bill Lester looked like a monster; a formidable demon towering over his youngest son and staring down his disgust-wrinkled nose with cruel and sunken eyes. “It’s about time you proved yourself worthy of being a member of the Lester family.”

With that, Phil’s father turned on his heel and left, closing the door forcefully behind himself and leaving Phil staring after him with a face of shock and despair.

Utter hopelessness built in Phil’s chest and shook his body with sobs as more tears began to flow down his face. Phil drew his knees up to his chin and sat hunched over them, his face buried in the rapidly dampening fabric of his pyjamas. _How could everything have gone so wrong?_ Just when Phil was finally happy, real life had come and stomped on his situation and left it an unrecognisable mess on the ground.

_Maybe it would’ve been better if I’d never found Dan…_

Phil frowned and shook the thought away. _No. Dan’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I have to help him._

An idea began to glow in Phil’s head; a last smidge of hope. _Yes; that could work…_

But what if it didn’t?

_I have to try._

Phil sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, climbing out of bed with new determination. Quietly, so as to not draw the attention of his family, Phil grabbed his school bag and emptied it out of his books. He hid the books under his bed, and then began repacking the bag with clothes.


	10. Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: injuries; not-exactly-graphic-but-kinda-gross description

Phil was silent on the car ride to school the next morning, staring out of the window at the grey world rushing past. After the events of last night, he hadn’t got to sleep until almost 4am and had then missed his alarm, but that didn’t matter to Phil right now; he had a plan, and if it succeeded then being on time to school would be the least of his worries.

Martyn paid him little attention while they drove, merely muttering a brief “bye” as Phil got out of the car before driving on to work.

Phil watched his brother’s car out of sight, and then glanced back at the school building. A few stragglers hung about next to the cracked brickwork, but otherwise the courtyard was deserted; no-one would see him go; no-one would miss him. Phil glanced around once more before beginning to make his way back along the lane, keeping to the bushes at the side and trying to look inconspicuous.

*

It had started raining by the time Phil got within sight of the house, but nevertheless he hid himself in amongst the undergrowth about fifty yards up the road and settled down to wait.

He was almost completely concealed from the roadside, but through a gap in the dripping leaves he had a clear view of the house. The truck was still on the driveway, which meant that his parents were still home, but Phil knew they wouldn’t be for long. He wasn’t entirely sure where they were going – some council meeting that he hadn’t paid attention to the details of – but they would be gone plenty long enough for Phil to act on his plan.

It was uncomfortable, crouching on the wet earth with damp mud soaking into the knees of his school trousers and rain trickling down the back of his shirt, bent over awkwardly to keep out of sight and still maintain observation, but Phil just gritted his teeth and stuck it out, waiting. Waiting. Waiting…

Just as Phil was beginning to worry if he’d made a mistake and somehow got the wrong day, the front door opened and his parents emerged. Phil watched anxiously as they climbed into the truck and started the engine. He held his breath as the truck pulled out of the driveway and turned down the lane towards him, and as it passed he caught a glimpse of his parents’ silhouettes through the tinted glass, and hoped they wouldn’t see him.

The truck kept going, rounded the bend and was gone. Phil held on for another minute to make sure that it wasn’t coming back, and then he emerged from the bushes and crossed the road to the now empty house.

He walked up to the door and tried to open it, but the handle wouldn’t turn. Phil froze, giving himself a mental slap for being so stupid; _Of course it’s fucking locked; why the fuck didn’t I think of this?_ He stepped back and glanced around – there had to be a window or something open somewhere. Nothing on the front of the house; Phil paused, then headed around the side of the building where there was a narrow passage between the kitchen wall and the fence. One of the windows was, fortunately, open; unfortunately, however, it was about seven feet up and very small – it looked just barely big enough for Phil to fit through.

Making a mental note of the window as a possible way in, Phil continued down the passage to the gate at the end, letting himself through into the garden. He crossed over to the back door and tested it, unsurprised but nevertheless frustrated to find it also locked. Phil quickly checked all the other windows on the ground floor, but they were all closed; it looked like the kitchen window was his only option.

Phil went back around to the side passage and looked up at the window, assessing the easiest way to get to it. Firstly, he tried jumping to reach it, pulling it open as far as he could but unable to get a hold on the frame to pull himself up. As his bag definitely wouldn’t fit through with him, Phil reached up and shoved it in ahead of himself, wincing as he heard something smash. The space between the wall and the fence was only a few feet wide, so Phil braced one foot against each and pushed upwards, grabbing for the open window with one hand and the top of the fence with the other. For a moment he paused, catching his breath and waiting for his fingers to stop hurting where he had scraped them. Then he quickly twisted his body and swung himself towards the wall, reaching the other hand for the window and bracing both feet against the wall. Slowly, Phil pulled himself up and heaved his head and shoulders through the window, muscles straining as he steadied himself with one hand on the inside wall. He felt his ribs bruise as he pulled himself over the edge of the window, knocking his knee against the wall as he brought it up and through the narrow gap.

The momentum of the action over balanced him, and Phil let out an involuntary yell as he tumbled through the window and landed heavily on the countertop below.

“Fuck,” Phil muttered, sitting up and rubbing his ribs. He looked around: the counter where he had landed was fortunately empty, but judging by the broken bowls on the floor beside his bag, it hadn’t been. Phil slid off the counter and picked up his bag, heading through to the hallway. He dumped his rucksack at the bottom of the stairs and crossed to the basement door.

*

Dan’s head jerked up as he heard a yell and a thud from above. His ears pricked, listening; _That sounded like Phil._

Why would Phil be there? Dan had heard him leave for school, heard the house empty.

_Has Phil come back for me?_

*

The key was hanging on a hook by the door. Phil took it down and inserted it into the lock. A dull click, and Phil pushed the door open.

“Dan?” Phil felt for the light and flicked the switch.

The wolf was standing hunched over in the cage, and when he saw Phil his tail began waving happily, joyful squeaks and whines emanating from his throat. Phil threw himself down the stairs and onto his knees beside the cage, reaching through the bars and ignoring the tears that built in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Dan,” he whispered hoarsely, resting his forehead against the bars and looking into the wolf’s eyes. “I’m so, so fucking sorry. It’s my fault you got caught…”

Dan nosed at his fingers and whined, hardly daring to believe it: _Phil’s here! He came back! I’m gonna be free!_

Phil pulled at the cage door, but the lock remained solid. A growl of frustration rumbled in Phil’s throat as he remembered that the key for it was still hanging around his father’s neck, and he glanced around for something to use. His eye fell on the abundance of tools on the workbench, and he stood up to look through them. He found a large pair of bolt cutters and brought them back to the cage, fumbling slightly to cut the bars around the lock one by one, Dan watching intently all the while.

The last bar snapped and the lock panel fell to the stone floor with a metallic clatter. Phil barely had time to pull the door open before Dan burst out and collapsed on top of him, burying his face in Phil’s chest. Phil hugged him tightly as the wolf’s fur began to recede, his body growing until he was a human boy crouched on Phil’s lap.

Dan’s arms wrapped around Phil’s torso, gripping the black-haired boy’s shirt in weak fists as though making sure Phil was really there and wouldn’t leave. He didn’t care in that moment about the discomfort of the cold floor beneath his bare knees; he didn’t care about the muzzle still clamped onto his face; he cared only about Phil’s soft fingers rubbing his back and the comforting scent of leaf-mold and artificial lavender.

They remained in each other’s arms for several minutes. Eventually, Phil murmured, “I’m so sorry, Dan. I promise I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.” He pulled back to look into the brunet’s eyes, and a slight frown creased his brow as he moved his hands to untie the straps of the painfully tight muzzle. Phil pulled it gently from Dan’s face, and a gasp escaped him as he took in the werewolf’s ragged appearance.

Dan’s chin and lips were crusted with dried vomit; his pale skin was grubby with dirt and stretched over his visible ribs, but the most alarming thing was the sheer number of cuts, bruises, and dried bloodstains that covered his whole body.

“Oh, Dan…” Phil carefully extricated himself from beneath the younger boy and stood up, bending down to help Dan stand on his hunger-weakened legs. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

They stumbled up the stairs, Dan supported by Phil, and hobbled into the kitchen. Phil lowered Dan into a chair and fetched him a glass of water, holding it to his parched lips and helping him drink a few gulps. Phil then went over to the fridge and pulled out some leftover lamb chops, which he gave to Dan with instructions to eat slowly so that he wouldn’t throw up, and then hurried upstairs to grab some supplies.

Phil went first to his bedroom to grab some clean clothes – a pastel pink hoodie and a pair of dark grey joggers – from his own wardrobe, and then to the bathroom for a washcloth and the first aid stuff that was kept in the cabinet below the sink.

He returned to the kitchen to find Dan sitting where Phil had left him, a half-eaten lamb chop in his hand and silent tears running down his face. Phil dumped his bundle on a spare chair and crouched down in front of the younger boy, looking up into his face.

“Dan?” he asked gently.

Dan met his gaze, expression blank, eyes dull and filled with crushing emptiness. Phil placed a comforting hand on his knee.

“It’s ok, Dan,” he murmured. “You’re ok. I’m here; you’re fine.”

The brunet nodded jerkily, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath to steady himself. Phil smiled and stood up again, reaching for the washcloth and crossing over to run it under the tap. Once it was soaked in lukewarm water, Phil wrung it out and brought it back to Dan, pulling over a chair for himself and beginning to gently wipe away the vomit from around Dan’s mouth.

Beneath the covering of grime, Dan’s lip was swollen with a faint purple bruise, and as Phil continued to clean his face more injuries were revealed: a small cut over his right eyebrow; a grey blemish on his left temple; a raw line on the bridge of his nose from the tight muzzle. Phil got up to rinse off the washcloth and moved on to Dan’s back; more bruises and cuts and grazes littered the pale skin, and Phil could almost feel the impacts of them as he carefully cleaned each one.

It made Phil sick to think that it was his own family who had done this to Dan.

Once most of the dirt and dried blood was gone, Phil applied antiseptic cream to a few of the deeper cuts, and then helped Dan into the hoodie and joggers. The werewolf continued eating and drinking, and Phil sat down across from him, hesitating for a couple of minutes before speaking softly.

“Dan…” Phil paused, thinking of how to explain. “You can’t stay here anymore; I hope you realise that.” Dan’s eyes saddened, but he nodded in understanding. “You’d be killed on sight,” Phil continued, “We’ll have to completely leave the area, go somewhere else much more remote.”

Dan nodded again, but then suddenly frowned. “‘We’?”

“I’m coming with you,” Phil clarified, smiling. “I can’t stay here anymore, either; I can’t bear it any longer.”

The brunet’s eyes became hopeful, but the frown remained. “But… they’re your family…”

“How can you even be trying to defend them, Dan, of all people?” Phil’s voice was hard with dormant anger, but not at Dan. “They’re monsters, Dan; the fact that we’re blood related doesn’t mean we’re anything alike, or give them an excuse. What they did to you…” Phil trailed off with a sigh. “It’s taken me a while to see their behaviour for what it truly is, but now that I have… I can’t bear to see them break anyone else like that. Dan…” Phil paused again, but only for a moment. “They were going to make me do the same thing. My dad wants me to come on the next hunt, and he’ll force me to kill a werewolf or die trying. But I won’t; I’ll run away. Fuck their ridiculous bigotries; I’ll run away and live in the wild with my soulmate – assuming he’ll have me.”

Phil waited, smiling hopefully, and his grin grew wider as Dan met his gaze and began to smile as well.

“Of course I will,” Dan murmured, a twinkle of life sparking in his brown eyes and making them shine like Sunlight. Phil leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on the werewolf’s forehead. Their fingers intertwined, forming the promise of a bond that would last for the rest of their lives.


	11. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so so sorry that it's been so long since the last update - I've been busy writing a fic for the Phandom Reverse Bang (which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714276/chapters/41789792)), but now that that's uploaded I can concentrate on this one again :D

Phil went and grabbed his rucksack from the hallway and brought it back into the kitchen, setting it, open, on one of the chairs. Dan followed him upstairs and watched as Phil got changed out of his school clothes and into a T-shirt, hoodie, and hiking trousers – clothes more suitable for living outdoors. 

Once he was dressed, Phil reached on top of his wardrobe and brought down a cardboard shoebox, from which he retrieved a small knife in a simple leather holster. It had been a present from his brother for his last birthday, and Phil figured it would probably come in useful for surviving in the wild. He removed it from its holster and inspected the blade for rust or imperfections. When Dan saw it, however, he flinched away, looking up at Phil with nervous eyes.

“Is that… silver?” he asked anxiously.

“Hm?” Phil glanced down at the knife. “Oh, right. Uh, no; I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s just steel.” Dan nodded hesitantly, still eyeing the knife, and Phil gave him an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, Dan; I’d never use it on you, you know that, right?”

Dan looked up at Phil and gave him a small smile, nodding. Phil slipped the knife back into its holster and put it in his pocket, then stepped closer to the werewolf and kissed him gently, feeling the chapped skin and swollen bruises on Dan’s lips against his own. He pulled back after a moment and looked into those brown eyes; there was fear in them, of course, but there was also trust; Dan trusted Phil, it was just the unknown he was scared of.

Phil took Dan’s hand and led him out of the bedroom, taking one last look around at the familiar bed and the drawings and posters on the walls. He wanted to remember the details; he didn’t plan on coming back. There was no point bringing anything sentimental – it would only be a burden.

On their way back downstairs, they paused at the cupboard on the landing, and Phil pulled out one of the blankets that he had brought Dan before – his parents had apparently brought them back inside and washed them.

Dan and Phil then headed back to the kitchen. Phil dumped the blanket on the table and crossed over to one of the drawers, rummaging for a second before retrieving a box of matches and adding it to his rucksack. Then, Phil stuffed the blanket and first aid kit in on top of the clothes he’d packed last night, and zipped the bag up.

Finally, Phil put on his hiking boots and grabbed his anorak from the hook by the front door. He glanced around at the house he had lived in his whole life, a tiny fog of hesitation swirling in his chest. Then Phil’s eyes met Dan’s, watching him hopefully, and the fog dissipated. Phil had to leave – not just for Dan, but for himself.

_Neither of us are safe here anymore._

Phil reached a hand towards Dan, and the werewolf took it, giving a brief squeeze of reassurance. Phil grinned at him, then grabbed the latch on the door and pulled it open decidedly. He led Dan outside and closed the door firmly behind him, and then the two of them were gone: crossed the lane and disappeared into the forest opposite, out of sight of the house within moments.

The drizzling rain had stopped, and through the heavy ceiling of grey clouds a single ray of Sun shone down on the wet leaves like a miracle, a sign from Nature telling Dan and Phil that their gloom was ending: new light, new life, new hope; the end of a dark era, and the start of a much brighter one for both of them.

*

The rest of the day passed in a gentle blur of forest senses and idle conversations. Travelling was easy with each other’s reassuring company, and it seemed to take no time at all before they were well beyond the range of the town.

The grey clouds had long since dissolved into a calm blue sky, and the Sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon when at last Phil suggested looking for somewhere to stop for the night. Dan agreed, and about half an hour later they found a suitable spot: a small clearing surrounded by ancient oaks and alders, the ground around their roots littered with leaf mold and fallen branches of all sizes. The sound of a stream trickled through the silence from a hundred metres or so away, promising fresh water for drinking.

Dan indicated for Phil to drop his bag at the base of the biggest oak, and then began to drag over some of the bigger branches to prop against the living trunk. Phil followed his example, and Dan showed him how to pack the sticks closely together to form a fairly solid inner framework, and then cover that with leaves to make it weather-proof, leaving only a small gap for an entrance.

By the time the den was finished, the Sun was out of sight behind the trees, the bright pinks and oranges that filled the sky fading to calm purples and blues. In the twilight, Dan and Phil headed to the stream for a quick drink, returning to the den after the last of the daylight had vanished and settling down under the blanket.

Dan pressed himself against Phil’s side, wrapping his arms around the older boy’s chest and nuzzling into his neck. Phil smiled, putting one arm around the brunet’s shoulders and pressing a soft kiss on Dan’s forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. They had never been able to sleep like this before, cuddled up together, but now it felt important – this was the first time of many; the beginning of _them_.

At Phil’s words, a contented smile pulled at Dan’s lips, and he raised his head to stare into those blue eyes. They were shining and happy, and reflected the tiny pinpricks of light that shone through the gaps in the den roof from the almost-full Moon and created the effect of having their own mini starry sky.

“I love you too,” Dan whispered, his breath tickling Phil’s neck as his lips brushed the pale skin. A slight shiver ran through Phil’s body from the touch, and Dan grinned secretly as he felt it. Phil’s scent was changing, the familiar smell of artificial lavender slowly being overwhelmed by waves of intense, primal hormones.

But tonight was not the night. _Maybe later, in a few months, when we’re older._

Dan settled down, his breathing slowing as he drifted into a light sleep. Phil’s breaths slowed too, his arm around Dan pulling him closer, protective of his new family in this new world.


	12. Away

Phil was woken the next morning by a bright light shining on his face. He tried to open his eyes, but the blinding Sun disoriented him, and he rolled over out of its sight, blinking the purple and green spots out of his vision. Once he could see again, he looked around.

The den was empty except for Phil and his bag; there was no sign of Dan besides a bundle of clothes and the faint outline of disturbed leaves where he had been lying. Phil kicked off the blanket and stuck his head out of the entrance, looking around at the Sunlit trees.

“Dan?”

The twittering birds offered an answer, but not the one Phil wanted. He scrabbled to get out through the small entrance and looked all around the perimeter of the clearing and beyond into the surrounding trees. Nothing moved in the forest except the occasional dart of colour of a songbird.

_Maybe he’s just gone looking for food,_ Phil thought. A few seconds later, the rustling of leaves behind him confirmed, and his worried frown melted into a relieved smile.

A wolf was approaching through the trees, his brown fur patterned with gold from the post-dawn light. Clamped in his jaws were the limp bodies of two rabbits, their heads hanging at unnatural angles and the fur around their necks stained like red collars.

Dan’s ears pricked up when he saw Phil waiting for him, and he trotted over to drop the rabbits on the leaves at Phil’s feet, his tail swaying happily.

“Good morning.” Phil grinned as the wolf shifted back into the brunet boy, who stood up and stretched like a housecat, his pale body glowing in the Sunlight.

“Do you always sleep so heavily?” Dan teased, nudging the older boy playfully once he had shaken off the tension of the stretch – a very canine action that looked strange in Dan’s human form. “It’s a good thing one of us is aware of our surroundings.”

“I was tired,” Phil complained, smirking slightly as he reached one arm around Dan’s waist to pull him closer and breathe in the comforting scent of his hair. “I was worried when I woke up and you weren’t here,” Phil added softly after a pause.

“I only went to get us some breakfast,” Dan pointed out, gesturing to the rabbits.

“I know; thank you for doing that. I just… what if you’d been seen? Or shot, or captured again? I couldn’t bear to lose you again so soon.” Dan’s eyes were wide and sympathetic as he leaned up to kiss Phil’s lips gently. Phil’s eyes slid shut, and for a moment his world was reduced to the feeling of Dan’s chapped lips against his own, and the smooth skin of Dan’s hips beneath his fingers.

Dan pulled away and stared into Phil’s eyes, smiling as the familiar tingle of the soulmate burn ran through both their bodies. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” the brunet murmured. “I shouldn’t’ve just gone without telling you where I was going. We’re still too close to human territory to be wandering off separately.”

Phil nodded. “I agree. Come on, let’s eat; then we can move on again.”

They settled themselves on the ground beside the limp bodies of the rabbits. Dan reached for one of them and raised it to his mouth, but then lowered it, frowning as he watched Phil bundling twigs and dry leaves into a pile next to him, leaving a circle of bare earth around it.

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously.

Phil reached into the den and pulled out his rucksack, rummaging through it as he explained; “I’m gonna cook mine.”

“What does that mean?”

“If I eat it raw, I might get ill.” Phil extracted the box of matches and put the bag down behind himself. “I’m going to make a fire to cook the rabbit on to kill off the bacteria.”

Dan still looked confused, his head tilted to one side as Phil struck a match and held it against the pile of leaves and twigs. His expression turned suddenly to fear as the dry leaves caught and flames flared up to engulf them. The werewolf scrambled backwards, dropping his rabbit, eyes fixed on the dancing fire.

Phil frowned at him, confused and a little concerned. “Dan? What’s the matter?”

The brunet shook his head, still watching the flames. “I, um…” he murmured, swallowing nervously. “F-fire bad. Mother said… fire bad…”

“Dan.” Phil’s voice was gentle but firm. “It’s ok, alright? It won’t hurt you.” The werewolf still looked hesitant. “Dan?”

At last, Dan lifted his eyes from the sputtering flames to meet Phil’s gaze. He nodded slowly, his body relaxing, but he stayed back as Phil continued preparing his meal. Dan retrieved his rabbit from where he had dropped it and began eating it raw, but his brown eyes remained fixed on the fire as Phil built it up with bigger sticks, and while Phil skinned and butchered the carcass of his own rabbit. However, once the meat was laid amongst the flames to cook and the juices began leaking out of it, Dan’s expression changed. His nose sniffed greedily at the delicious air, and Phil smiled at the change in Dan’s behaviour from the mere smell of food.

“Do you want some?” Phil asked.

The werewolf nodded eagerly, dropping the remains of his own rabbit on the ground behind him and licking an escaped thread of drool back into his mouth as he crept closer to the source of the tantalizing smell. Phil grinned fondly as he stabbed a piece of meat with his knife and lifted it out of the fire, offering it towards Dan. The meat was very blackened on the outside and quite dry, but Dan devoured it with relish, tearing into it as though he was still in his wolf shift and making sure to not leave a single fragment. Phil began eating a piece of his own, smiling as he watched Dan devour the meat.

“Is that good?” he asked the werewolf, grinning.

Dan nodded again. “It’s hot,” he said eventually, pausing in the act of licking the grease off his hands. “It’s like when it’s fresh-killed and you bite into it still warm, but this is death-hot rather than life-hot.” His voice had a kind of childlike curiosity to it, which contrasted oddly with the slightly ominous statement.

Phil blinked, a slight frown ghosting over his face for a moment. Dan didn’t notice, continuing the thorough process of licking every last trace of the cooked rabbit from his hands. As Phil carried on eating, Dan stopped cleaning his hands and leaned closer, a hopeful expression on his face. Phil passed him another piece of meat, his smile restoring itself to his face.

*

It didn’t take them long to finish off the rest of the rabbit. Once they were done, Phil stood up and wiped his face on the back of his hand.

“I’m just going to the stream,” he told Dan, who nodded briefly and spat out the bone he had been gnawing on.

“I’ll bury the rubbish,” Dan said, indicating the little pile of discarded bones.

Phil nodded and smiled, then headed off into the trees. He washed his hands and face in the stream, refreshed by the cold water, and found a nearby clump of bushes to relieve himself before heading back to the den. While he was gone, Dan had shifted wolf and dug a shallow hole amongst the roots of one of the younger trees. As Phil approached he watched Dan carry the bones in his mouth over to the hole and drop them in, using his front paws to scrape soil back over the rabbits’ grave.

When he shifted back to human, Dan’s hands were filthy, his nails in particular black with dirt. But before Dan made his own trip to the stream to wash off, Phil asked him to throw some soil over the fire to smother it.

“Why can’t you do that?” Dan mock-complained.

“Your hands are already dirty, and I’ve just washed mine,” Phil countered.

Dan couldn’t deny that logic and did as Phil asked, although not without a dramatic sigh of exasperation and a half-hearted playful attempt to wipe his muddy hands on Phil’s khaki green hoodie on his way past. While Dan washed off, Phil stamped on the earth-covered remains of the fire to make sure that every last ember was extinguished, and then began packing the blanket back into his rucksack.

Dan returned within a few minutes, flicking water in Phil’s face by way of a greeting. Phil retaliated by poking him in the side, and a tickle fight quickly ensued. Phil, being clothed, was at a significant advantage, and Dan’s naked body was soon writhing on the ground under Phil’s relentlessly tickling fingers.

“Alright! You win!” Dan gasped eventually, breathless from laughing so much. “Get off so I can get dressed.”

Phil, also panting, suddenly became aware of how he was leaning over Dan and hurriedly pushed himself off, still grinning although slightly awkwardly. Dan rolled over onto his hands and knees and shook himself off dog-style, then crawled over to the den and reached in to retrieve his clothes. He stood up and put his joggers on, and then pulled his hoodie over his head with an air of finality, making sure there was no longer any skin exposed for tickling.

Phil smiled as Dan shoved his hands in the kangaroo pocket and pouted up at him from under the slightly oversized hood. Phil walked over and wrapped his arms around Dan’s waist in an apologetic hug, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the faintly freckled tip of his nose. Dan tried to maintain his mock-upset expression, but Phil’s cheeky tongue-between-teeth grin easily pulled up the corners of his mouth, which made Phil grin wider. Dan rolled his eyes and leaned in to press his lips briefly but fiercely against Phil’s before pulling away.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s take this den down, then we should get going.”

Phil nodded, picking up his rucksack and swinging it over his shoulder before moving to help Dan dismantle the den. Once they had removed as many traces as they could of their presence, they headed off into the trees.

*

The Sun was just starting to think about setting when at last Dan and Phil found a good place to settle. They had spent the latter part of the day climbing a shallow but large hill, and about three-quarters of the way to the peak they came across a cave in the hillside. It was about the size of an average bedroom, although with a much lower ceiling, and the narrow entrance was fairly well hidden by undergrowth.

Dan squeezed his way in and looked around. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the relative darkness, but soon he was able to make out the moss and vines growing on the stone, and a small crevice at the back of the cave through which a trickle of fresh water ran down the wall and into a channel on the cave floor.

The stone was cold beneath Dan’s bare feet, and his curly hair brushed the ceiling when he stood up straight, but the west-facing entrance allowed light from the setting Sun to filter in and warm the small room. It was pretty good, at least for a temporary base.

Phil followed Dan in and looked around with faint curiosity. He glanced at Dan, and at the werewolf’s nod of confirmation he slipped his bag off his shoulder and set it down on the slightly raised, flat area to one side. Phil then knelt down next to the bag and pulled out the blanket, spreading it out on the rock floor as though making a bed. He smiled up at Dan, and Dan smiled back.

*

They spent a short while after that exploring the surrounding area and looking for food, although they didn’t find much. Phil found a handful of blackberries and some fungus that he recognised as edible, and Dan shifted wolf to catch a couple of small birds which he devoured, feathers, bones and all. There didn’t seem to be any rabbits or any other bigger prey in the near vicinity, so Dan and Phil decided to search slightly further afield for sustenance in the morning, and returned to their cave.

The two of them settled in their makeshift bed, watching the Sunset through the narrow opening of the entrance. The rucksack acted as a pillow for Phil, and Dan’s head rested on Phil’s chest. It wasn’t the most comfortable sleeping position, but it was the best they could do in the circumstances.

They lay in silence for a while, listening to the chirrups of the songbirds settling in for the night. The gentle trickle of water created a peaceful ambience, and as the last of the red dusk light faded into blue-black Phil spoke up.

“Hey, Dan?”

“Hmm?” Dan murmured sleepily.

“I’ve been thinking,” Phil continued. “About us.”

“What is it?”

Phil paused. “I want to be with you, Dan,” he said eventually. “You’re my soulmate; I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want to live it your way.”

Dan pushed himself up on his elbows so that he could look Phil in the face. “What are you saying?”

“I want to be a werewolf, Dan. I want to be like you.”

Phil’s eyes shone with determination in the evening light, but Dan hesitated. “Are you sure?” he asked after a moment. “It will be dangerous, in more ways than one.”

“I’m gonna be in danger anyway, travelling with an outlaw,” Phil pointed out, smiling. “That doesn’t change the fact that I want to stay with you.”

Dan smiled as well, then leaned in to place a soft kiss on Phil’s lips. “Alright then. The Moon will be full tomorrow night; I’ll bite you then.”

“Thank you. I love you, Dan.”

“I love you too, Phil.”

They shared another kiss before settling down again. In the darkening cave, their breathing synced and slowed, evening out as they drifted off to sleep, content in each other’s arms and excited for the following night’s new progression in their relationship.


	13. Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is coming out earlier than I thought it would, but I had time to write and get it done so I figured I might as well post it :)
> 
> see the cover for the fic [here](https://ky-thewolf.tumblr.com/post/183075430222/heres-the-new-cover-for-my-fic-silver-heart-i)
> 
> **TW: blood**

“It’s Full Moon, Phil; are you ready to meet your wolf?”

Dan’s voice was clear and quiet in the still air. The two of them stood facing each other, a few feet apart, in a small clearing a little way up the hill from the cave. The Sun was just finishing setting behind Phil, whose expression was filled with nervous excitement. At Dan’s words, he nodded sharply, and Dan heard the rush of air as Phil took a deep, steadying breath.

“Ok,” Dan continued. “So, before we do this, I should probably explain a bit about what’s going to happen.”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed, and Dan heard the suppressed relief in his voice.

“Right, well, um…” Dan paused. His hands fiddled absent-mindedly with the hem of his hoodie. “My memory’s a bit hazy; I’m only going off what I could pick up from my pack when I was younger, but I think I can remember enough…”

“That’s reassuring,” Phil said, laughing slightly.

Dan smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I’m pretty sure it’s all fine, but if you want to change your mind you can.”

“No, I’m fine.” Phil grinned. “I trust you.”

“Ok,” Dan said, also grinning. “Well, first off, when I bite you, you’ll have a few minutes before you shift into your wolf form for the first time, and then once your body’s used to it you’ll be able to control your shifts.” Phil nodded, showing that he understood. “Also, for the first couple of weeks you’ll be very, um, physically vulnerable, because your body has to adjust to the change and get used to a new form.”

Another nod from Phil.

“Ok. It will take you a little while to pick up the wolf language, as well,” Dan continued, “but once you do we’ll be able to hunt together better.”

“Alright,” Phil nodded. “Is that everything I need to know?”

“Hang on, there’s still a couple more things.” Dan rolled his eyes fondly at Phil’s impatience. “I should probably tell you that you’ll have the bite mark forever. So even once it’s healed you’ll still have an obvious scar.”

“That’s fine,” Phil said, smiling. “It will be like a mark of our love, showing the world what we did to be together.”

Dan shook his head in mock-exasperation. “That is the most disgustingly cheesy thing I have ever heard.”

Phil shrugged, grinning cheekily with his tongue poking out between his teeth. Dan grinned too.

“Uh, right. Is that everything?” Dan thought for a moment. “Oh, I should probably make it clear: bites will only make someone a werewolf on the Full Moon. Which is why we’re doing this tonight instead of last night when you first asked.”

“I had guessed that, yes.”

“Right. I just wanted to make it clear. That also applies for if you bite anyone in the future.”

Phil nodded again. His cheeky grin faded into a more serious expression, but his blue eyes still shone with excitement.

“Ok.” Dan nodded to himself, glancing up at the now fully dark sky. While he had been talking, the Sun had completely disappeared below the horizon, and the round silver eye of the Moon had climbed into view above the trees, accenting the grass and trees with Her cool snowy glow.

Dan looked back at Phil. The older boy’s black hair was bleached almost white in the Moonlight, and his already pale skin was similarly brightened. His fists were clenched, tense with determination like the rest of his body.

As Dan stepped closer, Phil’s breathing quickened, his heartbeat audible in the silent clearing. For a moment their eyes met, allowing a brief tingle of the soulmate burn to run through both their bodies. Then, Dan bent his head closer, and Phil’s eyes slid shut.

One of Dan’s hands rested on Phil’s shoulder, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of the older boy’s neck.

“Are you definitely sure you want to do this?” Dan whispered, his lips brushing Phil’s skin. His breath tickled faintly, and Dan felt Phil’s whole body tense, fighting the sensation, before relaxing completely.

“Absolutely.”

That one word was all the confirmation Dan needed. His teeth shifted into his wolf’s fangs, and without hesitating he sank them deep into the soft flesh of Phil’s neck.

Phil cried out loudly, shattering the still air, his hands rising instinctively to fend Dan off. Dan released him quickly and stepped back, licking the drips of bitter-tasting blood from his lips and chin, watching.

Phil’s eyes were open now. His hands came up to put pressure on the open wound, and blood bubbled out between his fingers, slowly staining his hoodie red. His knees hit the ground, his breath coming fast and ragged. One hand dropped from the bleeding bite, and Phil stared in shock at the dark liquid running down his arm and soaking into the sleeve of his hoodie. The blue eyes were raised to Dan’s face for a moment, their expression unreadable, before a sudden spasm shook Phil’s body and he slumped forward, his hand gripping at the earth as though trying to hold on to life itself.

Dan’s heart was racing as he watched Phil’s body convulse again. The pain in the older boy’s posture was almost unbearable to see, and on the inside Dan was panicking. _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck – have I done something wrong? Have I killed him? Oh fuck, please say I haven’t killed him…_

For a time, there was no movement, no sound except Phil’s heavy panting. Dan couldn’t breathe; all he could do was wait.

Then, finally – Dan didn’t know if it had been minutes or just seconds – something changed in Phil, and Dan knew he had done it right.

Silver light was shining out from Phil’s heart like a small beacon, illuminating the clearing from below in the same colour as the Moon from above. Her power flowed through Phil’s body, swirling in his eyes and spilling out through the puncture wounds on his neck as his hand fell away to grip the ground alongside the other one.

As the light grew brighter, Dan was forced to look away, shielding his eyes from the blinding energy. But there was no way to block out the piercing scream of pain that erupted from Phil, growing louder and louder alongside the jaw-clenching cracking of rearranging bones.

At last, the sound and light died away, leaving the clearing dark and eerily silent. Dan’s ears were ringing when he finally looked back at where Phil had been kneeling.

The human boy was gone. In his place sat a pitch-black wolf, its head hunched and eyes closed, breath coming in shallow whistling whines. Clothes were bundled carelessly on the ground around it as though they had been dropped in a hurry.

Dan quickly shifted into his own wolf form, letting his suddenly-too-big joggers slide off him and backing out of his hoodie. The brown wolf stepped towards the black one, sniffing curiously.

Phil’s scent had changed, but it was still recognisably Phil’s. His black fur was smooth and thick, speckled with tiny flecks of off-white that reminded Dan of stars in a night sky, like the one above. As Dan’s nose touched his shoulder Phil’s head jerked up. His eyes met Dan’s, the same blue eyes that Dan knew from his human form except for one tiny detail: a narrow band of silver around the pupil; the Moon’s power now within him, like an eclipse in the sky.

Phil’s nose twitched, testing the new smells that he had never known existed; his ears stood to attention, flicking in all directions to try and keep track of all the new tiny sounds. Slowly, Phil stood up, feeling the ground beneath his new paws, scratching at it experimentally with his new claws. He looked at Dan, and his mouth widened into a canine mimic of a human grin, his tongue poking out like it always had. His tail wagged quickly, and Phil jerked round to look at it, his eyes shining with curiosity like a human child. For a moment he just watched it sway, then he began chasing it in circles, yipping like a pup. When he found his voice, Phil abruptly stopped chasing his tail and stood for a moment, testing it and listening.

Dan watched fondly as Phil explored his new body, unable to focus for more than a few seconds on any one part. It was interesting to watch the way his still very human mind worked in the wolf’s body, but Dan suspected his mannerisms would become more wolfish over time.

Phil finally looked back at Dan and yipped happily, stepping forward to lick the brown wolf’s mouth. Normally, that would be a sign of submission, but Dan suspected that Phil meant it as a human kiss and returned it.

The two of them stood facing each other for a few moments, and then Dan raised his head and howled. Phil soon joined in, his voice slightly shakier than Dan’s, like a young pup’s, which contrasted strangely with the fact that it was also deeper. Despite the differences, their songs intertwined naturally as though they were always meant to be, fitting together like puzzle pieces in the cold night air beneath the watching eye of the Full Moon.


	14. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday, zev! ily my dude xx
> 
> TW: racist and homophobic slurs

Trees and bushes blurred past in rushes of colour, their branches combing through the wolves’ fur as they ran.

Dan was in the lead by a few metres, with Phil chasing behind. The black wolf occasionally stumbled over his uncoordinated paws, still unused to running on four of them, and the endearing clumsiness greatly amused Dan.

Gradually Dan’s strides slowed from a lope to a trot, from a trot to a walk. He glanced over his shoulder, inviting Phil to catch up. The black wolf did so, nudging him playfully. Their shoulders brushed companionably in the autumn air.

With a subtle motion, Dan indicated for Phil to stop, and moved around in front to sit facing him. Dan’s ears were pricked, his eyes shining with filtered Sunlight as he looked around at the surrounding forest, breathing deeply; his gaze met Phil’s, and with the tingle of the soulmate burn came Dan’s voice speaking directly into Phil’s mind.

_Focus. Look. Listen._

Phil did as Dan instructed; his ears and nose twitched as his gaze swept the trees. He slowed his breathing and concentrated, using his newly wolf-sharp senses to explore the forest: the quiet sighs of the wind through the topmost leaves, the narrow branches creaking softly; the day-old scent of a juvenile vixen clinging to the undergrowth where she had passed through; a songbird rummaging amongst the fallen leaves about twenty metres or so off to his left; the musky aroma of the autumn earth mingling with the cool freshness of a nearby stream.

A whole new world was opened up to Phil without the limitations of his human body. He closed his eyes, focusing on the forest senses but always aware of the warm presence of Dan a few feet in front of him, watching expectantly like a teacher with their student.

Phil was so deep into the meditation of the sounds and scents of the forest that he startled when Dan’s nose touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes, tail waving as Dan nudged him playfully before turning and running off into the trees again, glancing back teasingly at Phil. A sudden unfamiliar urge took hold of Phil, and without hesitation he followed, gaze focused on the retreating rise and fall of Dan’s back end.

Dan heard Phil’s panting breath and pounding paws getting closer and closer, catching up quickly. A whiff of Phil’s scent reached his nose, hormonal and hungry. It filled Dan’s mind with eager excitement, but he wouldn’t give in so easily. He wanted to make Phil work for it. When the black wolf was only a couple of metres behind, Dan suddenly put on a burst of speed, sprinting away and leaving Phil behind. Phil shook off his surprise and adapted quickly, putting his legs and lungs into overdrive to try and catch back up, primal instinct making him want to prove to Dan that he could meet the challenge.

The trees ahead to their right were thinning out. Dan’s path darted this way and that, changing directions abruptly as he playfully tried to throw Phil off, wear him out, see what he was made of. Phil skidded slightly at each turn, disturbing the leaves as he scrabbled to get back on track, determined to keep up. Dan had kept going straight for longer than usual since the last turn, heading towards where the trees thinned. Phil’s eyes darkened like a hunter locked on its prey. Without the zigs and zags, he was able to maintain his speed and start gaining on Dan. His muscles ached, but not nearly as much as they had two weeks ago when he followed Dan to the secret clearing where they had had their first kiss. _Has it really been only a half-Moon? It seems so long ago; so much has changed…_

Phil was now only two or three metres behind. The edge of the trees was fast approaching, where the ground abruptly dropped off out of sight. At the last moment, Dan made to dart off to the left, but before he could fully turn Phil leapt at him, catching his flank at full speed. The action knocked Dan completely off-balance, turning him around and over. Phil had misjudged his trajectory; he overshot, and the momentum of his leap sent them both over the edge.

The two wolves tumbled down the slope, tangled together, rolling on top of each other; out of the shade of the forest and into the open, coming to a sudden stop at the bottom of the hill where the ground levelled off. It appeared to be a dried up riverbed, now covered in fallen leaves instead of water. Dan landed on his back, belly exposed, Phil on top of him.

Neither of them moved for a short while. Both were panting happily, grinning as they faded back to human.

Dan’s arms were stretched above his head, his hair messy over his slightly flushed face. His bare chest rose and fell rapidly. Phil leaned over him, one hand either side of Dan’s head, knees straddling Dan’s hips. His black fringe hung down limply. Their faces were six inches apart, and the expressions on both were of undisguised want.

Dan stared up into Phil’s eyes. The usual summery sea-blue had darkened like a storm, but the pupils had dilated to cover most of the colour as though it had been sucked in by hungry black holes. The silver band seemed to almost glow as the soulmate burn flared, more strongly than usual. Phil licked his lips quickly, glancing down as the sensation concentrated where they touched.

The pause was unbearable. Dan reached up to tangle his fingers in Phil’s black hair, pulling his head down to connect their lips in a heated kiss.

The suddenness of the action caught Phil off-guard for the briefest moment before he joined in. Their mouths moved together, tongues roaming. Phil ran his fingers over Dan’s bare torso, from his neck down to his belly, and then down further, smirking as he felt Dan shiver beneath his touch. Without disconnecting their lips, Phil let himself down so that he was lying on top of Dan, bringing both hands up to run through Dan’s brown curls.

Their bodies were pressed together, hot and intimate in the cool air. The heavy scent of hormones was drifting up in invisible clouds around them, getting denser and denser as they continued making out, caught up in the bliss of the moment…

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?!”

An angry shout made them break apart hurriedly, looking around for the source. An elderly man had emerged from the trees on the opposite side of the river. His dark eyes were sunk deep into his thunderous face. Over his shoulder hung a storm-grey shotgun.

“Disgusting faggots! Get the fuck off my land!”

The man started down the slope towards them, his footing unsteady on the steep leaf-littered bank. Phil was frozen, mind blank. He felt Dan move under him, twisting onto his front and shifting into the brown wolf. Phil copied him, hurrying to untangle their bodies and limbs. The hunter’s face became shocked for a second before snapping back to anger.

“You worthless mutts! Get the fuck outta here!” His arthritis-stiffened hands fumbled to load the shotgun. “Unnatural animals! I’ll shoot you!”

As he was speaking, Dan and Phil scrambled to their paws, already sprinting back up the slope the way they had come. A loud bang beat at Phil’s sensitive eardrums. Something small and metal brushed past his ribs and hit the ground inches from his front paw. Another bit into a tree ahead of Dan, but they kept running; zig-zagging this way and that, only this time with a real predator chasing them, real fear fuelling their adrenaline.

The hunter was quickly left behind. The last Dan and Phil heard of him was an outraged shout telling them that _queer mutts deserve to die twice_.

*

They got back to their cave without injury, but there was a kind of awkward silence between them as they shifted back to human.

Phil was shocked. Of course he knew the attitudes towards homosexuality, and especially against werewolves; his own family were some of the biggest advocates of bigotry that he had ever met. But the reminder of what life was like on the other side of the fence, experiencing the receiving end of the attacks first hand… it was very eye-opening, to say the least.

“We should move on.” Dan’s voice cut through the silence.

Phil blinked. “Huh?”

“Before we’re found again. We should get out of here, find somewhere else to stay.” Dan was pulling on his hoodie as he spoke.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We should go.”

They shared a quick, sad smile. Then Dan threw Phil his clothes, and the two of them got dressed in silence. They gathered their few belongings in the rucksack, and had a quick drink from the little waterfall in the corner before heading back out into the forest, in the opposite direction from where they had met the hunter.

Having to keep moving to stay safe was a definite pain in the ass, but they didn’t have a choice. _At least we still have each other,_ Phil thought as Dan’s hand slipped into his.


	15. Cold

They travelled all through that night, too uneasy to settle, on constant lookout for any threats that might be lurking in the shadows of the forest. Silver light from the waning Moon was scattered sporadically across the ground, but everywhere else had retreated into darkness and distrust.

Their eyes were aching with tiredness by the time the Sun rose the next morning. The golden rays reaching into the sky felt harsh after so long in the dark. Phil began to feel the pressure of a headache pounding behind his forehead. Dan’s face was hidden within the depths of his hood. One hand was buried in his kangaroo pocket; the other still held Phil’s.

Few words had passed between them as they walked, the silence maintained by exhaustion and wariness. Spoken language seemed out of place in the unknown wild.

It was nearing mid-day before they found another cave to stay in. This one was significantly bigger than the last one, with a wide entrance that looked out over a deep, forested valley. Worn out by the travelling and stress of the previous day’s events, Dan and Phil immediately collapsed on the cave floor to sleep, wrapped up in the hastily extracted blanket and each other’s familiar embrace.

*

When they woke up, the Sun had set and the Moon was high in the clear sky. Leaving the rucksack, blanket, and their clothes in the cave, Dan and Phil shifted wolf and made their way down into the valley. A river ran along the bottom, the sounds of water tripping over pebbles strangely muted in the night. The bank was just steep enough to be dangerous, but Dan managed to find a smaller stream that branched off towards a marshy area where they could both drink without worrying.

The cold water helped to ease Phil’s still-pounding head, and under Dan’s instruction he managed to catch a couple of fish to satisfy his hunger.

Too worn out to do anything more, the two wolves returned to the cave. Small stones kept coming loose under Phil’s tired paws, tumbling down the slope and trying to take him with them.

Picking up the blanket in his jaws, Dan waited for Phil to lie down before throwing it over him, letting it settle before wriggling under himself. Their bodies pressed together, curled around each other with Dan as the little spoon. His chin rested on the rock floor near Phil’s muzzle, and the black wolf’s heavy breathing tickled Dan’s ears as they both drifted back into exhausted slumber.

*

Winter hit hard and fast.

Over the next week, the last fragments of colourful autumn released their grip on the frail branches and fell, leaving the world grey and cold. The long nights became overgrown with heavy clouds that persisted through the days, deadening scents, sounds and sight. The temperature dropped below freezing; mornings were whitened by frost that melted and soaked into the ground, turning it to mud which clung to their fur and in between their toes.

Phil’s headaches got worse. By the time they had been there for a week it had evolved into a bad flu that weakened him to the point that it was almost impossible for him to stand, let alone hunt. Instead, he was confined to the cave to spend his days wrapped in the blanket, tossing and turning fitfully, glitching between wolf and human, in a constant state of semi-conscious unrest.

Dan didn’t know how to help; his knowledge of healing plants and practices was practically non-existent. As he told Phil in an attempt to reassure the older boy, he suspected the illness was caused by Phil’s body still being vulnerable from his new transformation, but that didn’t help with relieving the discomfort. The most Dan could do was bring him food and drink. But hunting was scarce, and little of what Dan managed to catch actually had enough meat on it to relieve their hunger. He had found a curved piece of bark to bring Phil water in, but more often than not it was left largely untouched, only to get knocked over by one of Phil’s restless limbs.

Dan also had to keep Phil warm: after long days of hunting with little success, Dan would return to the cave to spend his nights curled up next to the shivering older boy, his body pressed closely against Phil’s back in an attempt to protect him from the harsh sleet that plummeted down outside and reached frozen fingers in to steal their warmth away.

*

Phil started getting better with the change of season, the warming weather giving him the strength he needed to fight off the last of his flu. He was still too weak to hunt, but he was eating and drinking properly again, and his sleep was no longer disturbed by restless spasms.

Neither of them had been prepared for the long winter, but with the reappearance of prey in the spring they both began to put on weight. At first, Phil’s food was turning into fat, but once he became more active with hunting that fat was converted into muscle, giving him the toned and powerful appearance of a mature adult wolf. He was taller than Dan now, and stronger: when they play-fought, Phil always came out on top; when they chased through the trees, Phil was faster; when they brought down a full-grown buck, Phil was the one who carried it home.

_There’s no denying it,_ Dan thought as he watched Phil stowing the leftover carcass for later. From his position curled up at the back of the cave, Dan had a perfect view of the black wolf silhouetted against the pink-stained sky; _He is definitely an alpha wolf._

Phil straightened up, breathing heavily. His shoulders tensed as he shifted human, stretching his arms above his head so that his fingers brushed the stone ceiling. A half-human, half-wolf groan escaped from his mouth, ending in a squeaking yawn as he dropped his arms back down to his sides, shaking out the tired muscles as he approached Dan. Stepping over him, Phil picked up the blanket and lay down behind the brown wolf, draping it over them both. His fingers traced slowly through the fur on Dan’s side, and Dan smiled to himself, melting out of his wolf shift so that by the time Phil’s hand reached Dan’s hip his fingers touched human skin. Dan felt Phil’s body press against his back, familiar and warm, and his breath caught slightly as soft lips brushed his neck.

Outside the cave, the last rays of Sun faded out of sight, leaving only a blanket of deep blue speckled with the blinking light of a million stars.

*

“Dan.”

No response.

“Dan,” Phil murmured, shaking him gently. “Wake up.”

Dan mumbled something inaudible, snuggling deeper into the folds of the blanket. At his back was cold, empty space.

Something poked him in the neck. Dan swatted it away, but it just came back and poked his belly, shoulder, cheek–

“What?!” Dan shouted, sitting up suddenly with his arms flailing in an attempt to fend off Phil’s invading fingers. He opened his eyes to find his face inches from Phil’s. The older boy smiled endearingly at Dan’s outburst and pointed behind him, out of the cave entrance.

“Look.”

Dan frowned slightly, craning his neck to look over Phil’s shoulder. As he moved, the blanket slid down, leaving his body exposed to the cold air. “What is it?” Dan noticed the gleam of excitement in Phil’s blue eyes.

Phil shuffled away and beckoned to him, glancing outside. Hesitantly, Dan shook off the blanket and followed until he was close enough to see over the edge of the cave mouth.

Bright white blinding in the light of the climbing Sun. Sounds and scents deadened in the heavy air. Even the river had stopped flowing.

Dan’s eyes widened as he stepped forward, looking around at the transformed landscape. One hand reached out to touch it, press down and withdraw, leaving a five-fingered impression in the surface. It was so long since Dan had seen snow, and even then it had only been paw-depth; this was _real_ snow.

Something brushed his shoulder. Phil had shifted wolf, and a wide doggy-grin was stretched across his face. His eyes met Dan’s for a second, then he leaped forward out of the cave, hitting Dan with his tail on his way past.

Dan giggled as he watched Phil barrel down the slope, half-running, half-sliding, leaving a ragged trench in the snow behind him. About twenty paces down Phil stopped and turned to look back up at Dan, tail waving happily. His black fur contrasted vividly with the clean snow, and was already powdered with white. He barked once, dipping his head playfully, goading Dan to join in. Dan rolled his eyes fondly, pausing before leaping out into the white world, shifting in mid-air.

The snow came up almost to his elbows, crunching softly under his wide paws. After a few paces Dan changed course to join Phil’s path, picking up speed as he sprinted straight for Phil. Just when it seemed like Dan was going to hit him, Phil leaped to one side and ran off again, bouncing through the deep snow like a clumsy gazelle. Dan immediately gave chase, a warm ball of happiness glowing in his chest.

*

By the time they returned to the cave, soaked and panting heavily, the smooth landscape had been ruined by erratic trenches, holes, skids and banks that perfectly documented their wild antics.

Phil nudged Dan playfully with his shoulder as he passed, glancing back with a happy sparkle in his eyes and his tongue lolling. Dan shook his fur in response, raining droplets of melted snow all over Phil, where they stuck to his black coat like tiny crystals. Phil shook off as well, but Dan darted out of the way to avoid getting wet again. Phil nipped cheekily at his tail, causing Dan to spin around to fend him off, but they were both too exhausted for more playing.

They dragged out the leftover carcass and shared it, gulping down mouthfuls of meat as though they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

At last, with full bellies and the Moon rising outside, they pushed the stripped bones back into the niche and shifted human. They pulled on their hoodies and trousers against the cold and wrapped themselves in the blanket, cuddling together and staring out at the starry sky.

They were silent for a while, enjoying the view and each other’s company. Then Dan spoke:

“Phil?” he whispered, afraid of breaking the spell.

“Mm?”

A moment of hesitation, then: “Do you ever miss your family, or, um, regret your decision to leave?”

Phil turned to look at him. The expression in his starlit eyes was soft yet insistent. “Dan, you know I love you. _You_ are my family now. Leaving was the best thing I ever did, not only for us but for myself. If I’d had to live with their oppressive views for even another day, I would’ve lost my mind. But now I’m free –” Phil glanced down, intertwining his fingers with Dan’s, “– and I’ve never been happier.”

Phil’s eyes were bright, and Dan smiled back, reaching up to place a gentle kiss on the older boy’s lips. His head dropped to rest on Phil’s shoulder, a deep sigh of contentment escaping from his nose.

Everything was right with his world; nothing would come between them.


	16. Endangered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: racism; disowning; injuries; blood; gore; death threats

The years passed in a constant blur of change. Day to night became season to season, adapting and moving on as the cycle continued and started anew.

But it wasn’t only the world around them that was changing; their personal environments did as well. Although almost imperceptible day to day, looking back it became clear to both Dan and Phil how much they had grown. And not just physically, although that was the most noticeable; their mentalities to the world had evolved too. They were able to communicate more effectively, to read each other better; they could find more efficient ways to survive, hunt, keep hidden. They also saw the beauty in nature and were able to appreciate it for what it was without being over-focused on how it could be used for personal means. Their relationship developed and expanded.

The only shadow in their lives was fear; in the back of their minds like a nightmarish demon dwelt the constant remembrance of what had happened in the past, and the dread of what might happen if they were seen or caught again. For almost four years they never saw another person, human or wolf. Whenever they came within range of a town or smelt another pack’s scent markers, they made sure to stay well away or pass through as quickly as possible, unable to trust anyone besides each other in such an uncertain world.

Neither of them knew how far they travelled, or where; they just had to keep going, changing territories and bases every few weeks, too afraid of being seen to settle in one place for too long. Sometimes they found caves to spend their nights in; other times they had to build dens, either digging into the ground or stacking up fallen branches and leaves against a tree. Occasionally they didn’t stop at all, just trudging on through the night until they found somewhere safe enough to set up for a little while before tearing it down and moving on again.

*

Dan’s nose twitched as he poked it into a print in the mud, inhaling deeply. _Deer. Only a minute or two ahead._ Dan flicked his tail as he set off through the trees, signalling for Phil to follow.

The musty scent drifted back to them on the light breeze, growing stronger as they crept closer. Dan could see them through the undergrowth now, grazing on what little scratty grass they could find about ten metres away from where he crouched; six or so adults and a couple of fawns. Dan’s paws placed themselves carefully and silently, one by one on the soft ground. They needed to get the herd moving to pick out a target.

Phil began moving off to one side, creeping round to the right; once the black wolf was in position, Dan would let himself be seen, and the herd would run.

*

A twig cracked about thirty metres away. The deer’s heads jerked up, ears pricked, shifting uneasily, turned towards the sound and away from Dan. At Phil’s signal, Dan leapt out of the bushes at the closest doe, snapping at her ankles. The doe bolted instantly, almost kicking Dan in the snout as she triggered the flight of the herd. Dan ran behind them, herding, keeping them moving, watching for an easy target. His own breath was loud in his ears, the pounding of his paws heavy. _He lived for the thrill of the chase._

One of the fawns was falling behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Dan saw a black blur sprinting alongside the herd; Phil had seen it too. Dan kept his eyes locked on the young creature, moving in gradually for the final blow to bring it down. In its panic the fawn stumbled, and those few moments of hesitation were all Dan needed. Channelling all his power to his legs, Dan leapt; teeth bared, claws extended, mouth watering at the taste of its fear…

*

An ear-splitting _bang_ suddenly shattered Phil’s concentration, and his heart stopped. The fear he felt upon hearing that noise again was so abruptly overwhelming that he almost couldn’t function; a sound he would recognise anywhere, and one he had hoped to never hear again: _gunshot._

And yet somehow that initial fear was nothing compared to milliseconds later: a loud yelp, and the sound of a large animal hitting the ground heavily.

_Dan!_

Phil sprinted towards where he had last seen his mate, heart racing, terrified of what he would find.

He almost tripped over the brown wolf, jumping over him at the last moment before turning around to examine him; Phil hadn’t seen or smelt him through the undergrowth, but now that the scent of his own adrenaline was beginning to dissipate the air was filling with a cloud of the sickening smell of his mate’s blood.

The fur on Dan’s shoulder was stained deep red, with more seeping up from the dark hole in his flesh. His breathing was fast and shallow; his head swayed when he lifted it to look at Phil.

_Dan…_ Phil’s wolf body melted away. He quickly pressed his hands firmly over the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, glancing around frantically for something that he could use to dress it; _something temporary, just until we can get back to our den…_ But more blood kept coming; Phil’s hands were soon glistening red. All the time, he kept talking to Dan, quickly, quietly: “Please Dan, hold on… you’re gonna be fine… just _hold on_ …”

“Get away from it.”

The voice was loud and commanding, confident as though used to people obeying instantly.

Phil didn’t move.

“I said, get away from it or I’ll shoot you!”

Keeping his hands pressed on Dan’s wound, Phil slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder. Four men stood behind him; hunters, dressed for the outdoors in big boots and rain jackets and baseball caps. All four held rifles pointed straight at Dan and Phil.

The man who had spoken stepped forward. The hollow end of the barrel was only a few feet away from Phil’s face.

“Are you fucking stupid? Move! Else I’ll put a slug through your face!” He cocked the gun threateningly; the loud click echoed off the trees.

“Dad, wait!” The man next to him, the youngest of the four, put a hand on the leader’s arm. Before the leader could react, the younger man leaned forward, frowning at Phil’s face. “Phil? Is that you?”

Phil had maintained a neutral expression up until that point, but at those four words his eyes widened because _this was Martyn, his brother, and his father, who he had left behind four years ago and never expected to see again…_

“Phil? It is you, isn’t it?” Martyn stepped closer, lowering his gun to his side, but Phil’s expression suddenly darkened. A low growl rumbled like thunder in his throat, stopping Martyn in his tracks.

“Don’t come any closer,” he threatened, turning his body to face the hunters without taking the pressure off Dan’s wound.

“Philip…” Bill lowered his rifle slowly, the two other hunters following suit. “Come away now.” His hand reached out, beckoning. “Leave it.”

“Don’t hurt him.” Phil shuffled closer to Dan, a single tear tracing a line down his cheek. Beneath his fingers, Dan tensed, preparing for fight or flight. “Please…”

“Philip, get away.”

“No!” Phil could feel Dan’s blood seeping hot and wet between his fingers as the wolf shifted slightly on the leafy ground. “I won’t let you hurt him anymore!”

Bill’s hand dropped to his side in a gesture of exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, Philip, get a grip!” His knuckles were white as he gripped his rifle. “It’s just a damned mutt! The world’s better off without vermin like that!”

The following silence rang in Phil’s ears. His breathing was loud and fast, nostrils flared; his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing. His normally calm eyes flashed with barely contained fire.

“Just a mutt?” Phil’s voice was dangerously soft. His hands slid from Dan’s side as he stood up abruptly, clenching his bloody fists. The hunters instinctively raised their guns and stepped back at his sudden motion. “ _Just a fucking mutt? Vermin?_ I’ll tell you who’s the fucking vermin!” His voice rose to a shout, echoing off the trees. “It’s you lot! You come and slaughter us for no fucking reason, and all we’re doing is trying to live! It’s _you_ , you humans, who the world’s better off without!”

Bill’s eyes widened as he heard his son’s words. Then the underlying meaning sunk in, and his face contorted into a flushed mangle of anger. “ _You?! You’re_ one of them?!” In an instant he raised his rifle; Phil flinched, but Bill’s fury was suddenly pointed straight at Dan’s face. “ _You_ infected him!”

His finger twitched on the trigger; Dan flinched, expecting death, but at the last moment Phil moved. Shifting in mid-air, the black wolf leaped at Bill with teeth bared, fastening his jaws around the hunter’s wrist and knocking the rifle off-target just as it exploded.

Dan blinked, shocked for a moment at the narrow escape; Bill fell to the ground with a yell of pain and anger, the black wolf on top of him. Pausing for barely a second, Phil barked _Dan, run!_ and turned back to the hunters. Dan scrambled awkwardly to his feet and sprinted into the trees as fast as his leg would allow, back in the direction of their den.

Phil grabbed Bill’s fallen rifle in his jaws and flung it as hard as he could into the undergrowth, satisfied by the loud crack of it breaking against a tree. One of the other hunters was aiming after Dan, but Phil was quicker; leaving Bill clutching his bleeding wrist, Phil leaped at the man; before he could shoot, one of Phil’s huge clawed paws slammed into his crotch, knocking him to the ground with a short, high-pitched scream of pain. The third hunter appeared to have forgotten that he had a gun and began to run; Phil was immediately on his tail, fangs biting into the man’s ankle to bring him down. He snatched the rifle from the hunter’s startled hands and swung it; there was a dull thud and a crack as the butt connected with his skull, and the man stopped struggling.

Now only Martyn was left standing, shocked and terrified. As Phil turned on him, he fumbled to raise his rifle, but before he could even touch the trigger Phil grabbed it, ripping it from Martyn’s grip with ease. For a moment, the brothers faced each other: a tall young man and a huge black wolf. Phil still held the rifle in his jaws like a dog with a stick. Bill was watching them from where he lay on the ground, still clutching his bitten wrist, glaring at Phil with undisguised disgust. Phil’s fiery gaze met his father’s, and Bill’s eyes widened as the metal barrel began to groan. Supernatural strength coursed through Phil’s body, and within seconds the rifle collapsed under the grip of his jaws and snapped in two, falling to the ground with the broken ends smoking slightly.

_Take that as a warning._

Phil knew they had heard, because their eyes grew even wider. Martyn was simply shocked, but Bill was furious.

“You’re a fucking monster!” he shouted. “Get the fuck outta here, and don’t _ever_ let me see you again! I’ll kill you!”

Phil didn’t wait for the threat to be realised; instead, he turned tail and ran, away into the trees after Dan, the taste of human blood and his father’s words bitter in his mouth.

*

He caught up with Dan easily. All he had to do was follow the trail of bloodstained foliage. The brown wolf was staggering all over the place but still attempting to trot, breathing heavily and erratically. Phil loped alongside him on his uninjured side, brushing shoulders in an offer of support. Dan didn’t seem to be fully aware that Phil was even there; he just kept going, slowly and painfully, determined but fading fast.

It was too much. The ground rushed up to meet him, turning the world sideways. Everything was blurry and swaying. Something was nudging him, trying to get him to roll over. The world turned the other way up; a warm tongue caressed his bloody shoulder, cleaning off the dirt where he had fallen on it. A black shape appeared in his line of sight, licking his face, gruffing and whining, but Dan couldn’t move.

The black shape disappeared. Moments later, Dan felt strong hands working their way beneath him and lifting him into the air. He was held close against something solid and warm; the world began to blur even more as whoever was carrying him ran, the heavy footsteps pounding into his head.

He was laid on something soft on a floor of cool earth. It was dark and hazy; a soft voice whispered frantically as a pale shape darted around the tiny den.

*

Phil grabbed the first aid kit out of the rucksack, fumbling to unzip it. _Gauze. Bandage. No, wait…_ Phil dropped the first aid kit on the ground with the dressing materials carefully on top and turned to wash his hands in the bark drinking bowl. Water splashed everywhere in his haste, but he didn’t care; he just needed his hands to be as clean as possible.

He turned back to Dan, checking that everything he needed was within reach. “Dan, I need you to hold your shift,” he muttered quickly, placing one hand on the brown wolf’s twitching shoulder beside the wound. “Hold still. I need to get the bullet out.”

He knew you weren’t meant to. The first thing he had been taught as a child, watching his father with the guns, was _don’t try and get the bullet out_ ; it could cause more damage. He obviously didn’t want to hurt Dan further, but what choice did he have? The next step after first aid was _seek immediate medical attention_ , but that wasn’t an option right now. He would just have to do the best he could and hope that Dan’s werewolf healing would kick in quickly.

Without hesitating, Phil carefully dug his finger into the wound. Dan screamed, his body spasming, but Phil ignored it and tried to work quickly. He straddled the wolf’s chest to hold him down, his other hand pinning Dan’s paw. He could feel the bullet; he needed tweezers but he didn’t have any. He should have trimmed his nails.

At last the bullet came free, but now there was blood everywhere. Phil tossed it aside and reached for a piece of gauze to press against the wound, and then another which he dipped in the water and used to wipe around the hole. “Well done, Dan, it’s ok, you’re ok…”

Phil carefully climbed off the wolf, keeping the pressure on. “Ok Dan, I need you to shift,” he murmured. “I need you to shift human so I can put the dressing on.”

Dan was in so much pain that he could barely comprehend what was happening, but through the haze he could just about hear and understand what Phil was saying: _shift human… release the wolf… shift human…_

It took all his energy to focus on the transformation; he felt his wolf melt away, and the cold draft against his naked skin… And then the darkness descended, and Dan’s body went limp.

There was so much blood. Dan’s face was ashen grey as death, but the subtle movement of his pulsing jugular gave Phil hope. Working quickly, Phil replaced the red-stained gauze with a clean piece, and then another on top; he grabbed the bandage and wrapped the first couple of layers firmly around Dan’s upper arm – round and round, under his armpit and over his shoulder, under his arm again, round and round, under and over, under and round and round – over and over again until there was no more bandage, and Dan’s shoulder was secure.

The younger boy was trembling, shivering in the fading light. Phil tucked the blanket tightly around his frail form, leaving only his head visible on an improvised pillow of the pink hoodie. Once he was satisfied that Dan would be warm enough, Phil quickly pulled on his own hoodie and joggers and sat down again. For hours, while the last of the daylight disappeared into night, Phil just sat and kept watch, intent on the slight rise and fall of the blanket over Dan’s chest that indicated that he was still breathing, still alive, still fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was a bit late - I hope y'all enjoyed :)  
> this might be the last upload for a while as I will be working on the PRB 2019; don't worry, i'm definitely not quitting this fic, I will still be working on further chapters


	17. Grey

It was a few days before Dan was able to move around the den and do things for himself again, although he was still as weak as a newborn pup. Phil encouraged him to hold his human form and not shift wolf as he was worried that doing so might reopen the wound; unable to run free and hunt, Dan spent most of his days huddled at the back of the den wrapped in his hoodie and the blanket, his eyes sunken and staring in his pale face.

As soon as Dan was well enough to travel, they packed up and moved on.

For a couple of days, they kept going, unwilling to settle again so close to the risk of hunters, silent in their own heads and thoughts, communicating largely through the gentle touches of their joined hands. At night, they paused for a couple of hours’ rest, throwing together very temporary dens in a feeble attempt to shelter them from the cold. While Phil went hunting each night, Dan sat watch in the entrance to their skimpy tent of twigs and leaves, his injured arm supported by a sling made from Phil’s old T-shirt. When Phil returned, they hungrily devoured what little he managed to catch and then settled into broken sleep, only to wake a few hours later and move on again.

*

Phil pushed aside the curtain of ivy and stared into the black depths of the cave, his eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. So little light was able to reach in that he couldn’t see how deep it went. Dan stood behind him, facing the forest, shivering slightly. Phil gently told him to wait and hoisted himself up into the wide, low stone mouth. He crawled for about fifteen metres, and then his eyes adjusted and he could see. A little way ahead the cave opened up in to a bigger room, tall enough for Phil to stand up in, which tucked around to the left and met a dead end; the walls were decorated with pillars of stalagmites and stalactites, and large rocks littered the floor. In the left wall of the wider room, a large niche had been worn away, leaving an indent with a flat surface just wide enough for two tall humans to lie on.

Phil left his rucksack on the ground beside the alcove and crawled back outside to meet Dan, who was still staring off into the middle distance.

“This place is perfect,” Phil told him, trying to inject a positive tone into his voice. “It’s sheltered and hidden, big enough to move around in but still cosy enough to feel safe.”

Dan nodded absently. Phil sighed.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside so you can rest.”

Dan didn’t respond, but allowed Phil to lead him in and settle him on the blanket in the alcove. His wounded shoulder twinged as he lay down, causing him to whimper slightly, but soon he was settled on the soft blanket and the pain eased.

The brunet’s eyelids began to droop, and Phil watched his tired body sink into the bliss of sleep. _He really needed rest._ Dan’s werewolf healing was taking frustratingly long to work on that wound, but Phil hoped that plenty of sleep, coupled with tomorrow’s Full Moon, would help to restore him to full health.

Phil leaned down and pressed a kiss to Dan’s warm forehead, wishing him to sleep well and promising to be back soon. Then he melted into the black wolf and bounded out of the cave to hunt, leaving his discarded clothes piled untidily on the ground.

*

Something cold brushed across Dan’s skin, tickling the fine hairs. He shivered violently, jolting awake and looking frantically around the black cave for what had touched him. His heart beat loudly in his ears as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and soon he was able to make out the faint Moonlight filtering in through the mouth of the cave. The stone room was deserted and wreathed in shadows. Phil was curled up next to him, facing away, hogging the blanket in a cocoon around himself and leaving barely any for Dan.

It took Dan a moment to realise that the cold was caused by a breeze flowing through the cave – the dead-end cave; one of the boulders must have an opening behind it that was letting the draft in.

Carefully, Dan climbed off the sleeping platform, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. Kneeling down, he began feeling along the edge where the wall met the floor, running his hand over and under the boulders, working his way around the cave, searching for the source of the draft so that he could block it up and go back to sleep.

At last he felt a cold breath on his fingers. He struggled to push the boulder aside, then bent down to look for the gap in the rock.

Instead of the small crevice that he had expected, however, there was a narrow tunnel leading down and away into the blackness underground. Dan started to stand up, intending to go and wake Phil to help him cover it, but before he could something stopped him. The air flowing out of the tunnel smelt fresh and crisp, rather than stale like most cave air; his ears were filled with the faint whispering of the breeze over the stone, speaking to him, drawing him in…

Dan glanced back at the motionless shape of Phil, and then back at the tunnel. Something ancient pulled at his spirit, calling him to follow, and then without hesitation Dan plunged down into the tunnel.

It was a lot narrower than it appeared, and his human body was soon to wide to fit. With only a second’s pause, Dan sank into his wolf form, wincing at the pain in his shoulder as the muscles and bones rearranged themselves. He reached his nose around to check that the bandage was still secure, and then continued downwards, and this time his narrower wolf body had no problems.

He wriggled his way through for what felt like about ten minutes. At points, the contracting stone walls pressing tightly against his body from all sides made bile rise in his throat with claustrophobic fear, but always he kept pushing onwards, drawn by a familiar _something_ that attracted him like a moth to a flame.

And then suddenly there was no more tunnel, and Dan slid out into a huge cave.

Moonlight shone through a hole high on one wall; beyond that, the stone ceiling and walls were lost in shadows. In the centre of the floor sang a small waterfall that flowed down into a pool of liquid Moonshine.

But Dan only briefly noticed those things; he was more focused on the figure sitting on the opposite side of the pool: the pale grey shape of a young wolf, and its back was to Dan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> heads up: this will probably be the last update for a while, likely at least until late June/early July, as I will be focusing my writing efforts on my fic for the Phandom Reverse Bang  
> thanks for understanding and the continued support on this fic  
> \- Ky <3


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